


A Little Nightmare

by callboxkat



Series: Infinitesimal [3]
Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dogs, Drowning, Gen, Genderbending, Giant/Tiny, Near Death Experiences, genderbent Remy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callboxkat/pseuds/callboxkat
Summary: Remy’s just a little trying to live her life, which is a bit difficult when the humans in the house she lives in decide to call pest control. Tbh, that was pretty rude of them. For a five-inch-tall person, finding a new home carries some risks.





	1. Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> You do not need to have read Infinitesimal to read this!
> 
> Surprise! This week’s update is the first part of a short story taking place in the same universe! I decided to post it early, since it fits perfectly with an October prompt by @hiddendreamer67: “Underwater”. Remy’s genderbent because I can do what I want.

Remy ran, her feet pounding on the dirt as she raced across the open patch of ground between two buildings, weaving between the tall blades of grass, weeds, and rocks that lay in her path. The bag around her shoulders bounced with each step, and she could hear something loose rattling inside; but she didn’t stop to make sure its contents stayed put. She couldn’t afford to spend more time in the open than absolutely necessary.

She hadn’t been able to bring much with her when she left home. Just the clothes on her back and the handful of items she kept in her emergency bag. For once Remy was grateful that her ex-girlfriend—she grimaced thinking of her; _that_ was some baggage—had been so insistent on keeping a bag of supplies ready at all times. Remy hadn’t seen her in some time, but the habit had stuck.

Remy was a little. And for littles, life was often unpredictable, and usually dangerous. They were only five inches tall, after all. Any number of things could go wrong. They always had to be ready to run.

She spotted a shelter in the grass up ahead and dove underneath it: some kind of plastic children’s toy, lying tipped on its side. Remy crouched there, panting and trying to catch her breath. Maybe she should have been in better shape, given her lifestyle, but come on. She’d been running off and on all morning. Of course she was out of breath.

It wasn’t her fault that the humans in her home had chosen to call pest control. Maybe it had something to do with her getting a bit careless and tearing one too many holes in their bags of food, but… a girl had to eat, didn’t she? The humans had recently been being a lot more careful about sealing their food in containers, and Remy couldn’t just live off of crumbs they dropped on the floor. It wasn’t her fault.

In any case, it was too late to go back now. Remy just had herself, her wits, and the meager supplies in her backpack.

Finding a new home was hard work. She couldn’t just stop at the first building she came across and expect to be able to make a life there, certainly not one she’d enjoy. She had standards. And it wasn’t as if every human structure was livable for a little in the first place. They had to have hollow walls, access to supplies, safety… and, preferably, coffee.

What could she say? Remy was a bit of an addict.

Remy waited until her breathing had slowed to a more normal pace. When her legs felt a bit less like jelly, she slid the bag off of her shoulders and inspected it. It hadn’t come open, she was glad to see. She undid the button and looked through it, double-checking that everything was still there. She took a moment to rearrange everything inside, pausing when she heard a rumble of thunder above. That wasn’t good.

She briefly considered waiting out the storm under this small shelter of hers, but she decided that she still had enough time to find someplace better before it arrived. This spot was not exactly ideal. The ground would turn to mud fast in the rain, and Remy was pretty sure she was in a depression in the ground. She was _not _looking to drown, thank you very much. No ma’am. Not today.

She crept to the other side of the overturned toy—it appeared to be a yellow truck of some kind, but with a big shovel thing on the back. Remy didn’t understand how that could be fun, but she just shrugged it off. Humans were weird. There was no explaining that.

Looking out, she could see a relatively short stretch of grass, maybe ten feet, before it reached the house. It looked like there was a space underneath, covered with a wooden trellis. _That_ would be her shelter.

Remy looked around, vigilant for any signs of danger. Humans, dogs, cats, pianos falling from the sky, whatever. Seeing nothing, she stepped out; and she made her way through the grass. She had to cross a patch of concrete, which was more than a little disconcerting given how exposed she was, but she soon reached the house. She hopped through a gap in the trellis that was meant to close off the crawlspace, grumbling as her clothes snagged on a splinter, and found herself a spot to wait out the storm. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was dry, and it was relatively safe, so it would do.

About ten minutes after Remy got settled in, the storm arrived. Rain pattered down outside, soaking the landscape. Lighting flashed and thunder shook the wooden beams above, sending debris raining down around her. A dog started barking in the distance. Remy hugged her knees and sighed, grateful that at least the old paving stone that formed the floor beneath her remained dry.

Remy sorted through her supplies once more; then, with nothing else to do, she listened to the rain and tried to guess when it would stop. She didn’t want to be stuck down here forever. It was dark, and dusty, and even if that trellis over the opening would keep any large animals from coming down into this crawlspace, it wouldn’t stop the smaller animals, many of which could probably still make a quick meal out of her.

She had hoped the storm would pass quickly, but while the thunder and lightning faded after an hour or so, the rain showed no signs of stopping. It soon grew dark, and Remy was still stuck there, leaning against the foundation of the house and wishing she had something to eat.

Despite her less than luxurious accommodations, Remy found herself starting to doze. She’d been running a lot in the past few days, and she needed the rest. Remy would have preferred someplace warmer, drier, more secluded, but apparently her body had decided that the crawlspace of this random house would do. The pattern of the raindrops outside lulled her to sleep.

…

When she woke, it was daytime again, and the rain had finally stopped. It must have been recent, given the mud and the raindrops that clung to the blades of grass around her.

She would have liked to sleep in a bit longer—Remy was _not_ a morning person—but she knew that she had to keep moving. So, instead, she emerged from underneath the house, rubbing at a crick in her neck, and set off.

“Some coffee would be nice,” she muttered to herself, struggling to keep her footing in mud that rose halfway to her knee. After a few minutes, she came across a fragment of concrete, and she couldn’t resist the urge to take a break and stand atop it. She was already tired of not having something firm beneath her. Rubbing her hands on her arms, she looked up at the house she’d hidden under the night before. “Don’t suppose I can stay here, huh?” she asked reluctantly.

It honestly didn’t look too bad, at first. It was a house. People obviously lived there, and judging by the toys in the yard, at least one kid. But—oh, no. Never mind that thought. A cat sat in one of the windows, looking outside. It hadn’t spotted her, and it wasn’t as if it could get to her even if it had, but Remy was not about to go be housemates with a freaking cat. Not a chance.

“Bye, Felicia,” Remy muttered, hiking up her trousers and marching on.

…

Remy hoisted herself up onto the table with a grunt. Sitting on the edge, she let out a small, annoyed groan, and yanked her hook out of the wood. She was not cut out for all this work. She would very much have preferred to be sitting at home, sipping a cup of coffee or taking a noonday nap. But no, instead she was here, hungry and thirsty and tired, climbing up on a workbench.

The slick metal made keeping a grip during her climb difficult, but at last she had made it to the top. She’d worry about getting down later. For now, she wanted some food.

The tomato plant that Remy had spotted from the ground sat on the other side of the work bench, its pale green leaves glistening with water droplets left by the storm. Bright red fruit hung here and there, as well as some that were still orange or even green. Remy smiled, looking at it. She’d get a good meal out of this.

Remy finished winding up her rope, and she stuffed it and her hook back into her backpack. She looked around once more, just to be extra sure that there was no one else around—thankfully, humans didn’t seem to like going outside in the cold and the mud any more than she did. As much as Remy wished that she could follow their lead today and also stay inside, it was nice that she was alone. So she just got to her feet, adjusted the backpack around her shoulders, and approached the plant.

She had to stand on her backpack to reach the rim of the pot, but she made short work of hoisting herself up. The muddy potting soil inside was more water than soil, so Remy did her best to perch on the edge of the pot, holding onto one of the plant’s vines for balance. She did not want to step in that gunk. For all she knew, she’d sink right in and vanish. No, thanks.

Her boots slid slightly on the wet plastic, and Remy’s heart leapt into her throat, but she caught herself before she could fall. She let out a long breath, then looked back up at her prize. If she could just climb up a couple of vines, she could reach the lowest ripe tomato. It was the perfect size, too, and it wasn’t damaged by insects or anything.

Remy didn’t particularly _like_ tomatoes, but her mouth was already watering at the thought of the meal that awaited her. That just showed how well her uprooted life was going. With that lovely thought, Remy grabbed at another vine and stepped onto the one she had been holding onto before. The little hair-like structures on the vine tickled her arms. She scooted forward, closer to the center of the plant, and reached up for the stem of the tomato.

“Come on, come on, just a little further, don’t be a scrub,” Remy chided herself. She reached up and grasped the stem. “Aha!”

The tomato popped right off the plant, and Remy let out a surprised cry, the unexpected weight causing her to overbalance. She slipped; and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought she was going to plunge right into the mucky water below. At the last second, she hooked her legs around the vine and lunged towards it, scrabbling for purchase with her free hand.

For a moment she simply hung there, wrapped like a koala around the plant, trying to catch her breath. Finally, she pulled herself upright and out of the pot, landing in a _very dignified_ manner on the damp wooden table.

“She is beauty, she is grace,” Remy murmured, lying on her back. She turned her head to the side, and was glad to see that she’d saved most of the tomato from getting muddy.

She enjoyed her meal hidden between the tomato plant and the outer wall of the building, her backpack beside her. The watery juice of the tomato ran down her fingers as she ate—nasty—but she was too happy to get something in her stomach to complain. Remy decided that she might have to change her stance on tomatoes. This thing was delicious.

All too soon, Remy was finished eating, and it was time to set out again. She reluctantly got to her feet and walked to the edge of the workbench, shivering in the cool air. It was even colder than yesterday, _and_ it was wet, which was so not fair.

Remy grabbed her hook and rope from her bag and wedged the hook into the top of the workbench. Then she started to descend.

It was hard to find purchase for her feet on the metal table leg, which was not helped in the slightest by her muddy shoes. She peered over her shoulder down at the ground, hoping to reach it soon. Maybe not quite as soon as possible, though. She could see paving stones, weeds, and a bucket half-filled with rainwater down there. Those paving stones would not be fun to fall onto. She turned back around. Swallowing her apprehension, she continued her descent.

It seemed like it was going okay. Like she would make it down, perfectly fine, and go on her merry way.

Until her foot slipped.

And her tomato-juice-slicked hands lost their grip on the rope.

And she plummeted down towards the ground. Towards those paving stones.

She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching out blindly and kicking as if that would slow her down. She braced for a painful end to her fall, and—

_Plop!_

Under different circumstances, Remy might have been offended that she didn’t make a more impressive splash. As it was, she had more important things to worry about. She was hit by a shock of cold, and her eyes flew open. She gasped involuntarily, but water filled her throat instead of air. Bubbles swirled around her. She was underwater.

Her lungs were burning when she broke the surface, and she immediately started coughing and hacking uncontrollably, trying to clear them.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she gasped hoarsely, the coughing finally gone, spinning around and staring at her surroundings with watery eyes. “Oh, f*ck.”

She’d fallen into the bucket. The smooth, plastic bucket half-filled with water. Remy could swim, but staring at that tall, featureless white wall curving around her, she knew the odds of escape were slim.

She sure as hell tried, though.

She kicked, she slammed her hands against the walls, she even tried yelling for help—only a truly desperate little would try that, given that it was much more likely to attract unwanted attention than anyone who would actually help. Her rope and hook, the only things that could have saved her, were still attached to the workbench, firmly out of reach.

“I am _not_ going to die like this!” Remy gasped, her fingernails scratching at the hard, plastic walls. She tried to jump, but she had nothing to push against, and the walls above her were taller than she was. Remy could feel herself growing tired. Already her struggles had slowed, and a helpless panic was setting in.

She tried to think, tried to come up with a solution. She had her backpack with her, maybe she could use something in there? But she could think of nothing within that would help. The backpack wasn’t even buoyant enough to try to keep herself afloat with.

Finally, the realization of the exact nature of her situation set in. Remy couldn’t escape. She was utterly and completely trapped.

She was going to drown.

She was going to die.

…

Joan pulled their car up to the side of the road and turned it off. The sudden silence, the absence of the rumble of the engine and the music they’d been listening to on the way, was jarring. They looked across the yard, towards the house that stood there, and sighed through their nose. Joan had promised their aunt that they’d do some yard work for her this weekend, but they were already regretting that promise. The rain the night before had soaked everything, and the ground was going to be nothing but mud.

But their aunt would be upset if they bailed on her, so here they were.

Joan unbuckled their seat belt and got out of the car. They paused to stretch, letting the sun warm their face even as a cool breeze made goosebumps lift on their skin. Summer was a fading memory. Autumn had officially arrived.

Joan opened up the trunk and took out some supplies: a rake, a pair of gloves, and a set of clippers. Then they locked the car and went around to the back of the house, glad that they had thought to wear their rain boots. The mud squished with each step, bubbling around their feet.

They made their way over to the workbench against the house and set down the supplies there. They looked around, humming under their breath, searching for something they could use. They had run out of paper lawn bags and didn’t have time to go to buy more before they arrived, but Joan’s aunt had asked them to pull some weeds. They could still do that, of course, but they needed something to put them in. Their gaze fell on a bucket beside the workbench, half-hidden by weeds. Perfect. They leaned over to look inside, hoping it was still usable. It was empty other than some accumulated rainwater, and a couple of soggy brown objects. One had sunk to the bottom, and the larger of the two floated just below the surface.

“Jeez,” Joan muttered, inspecting the floating object. Was that a drowned rat?

They grabbed a trowel off of the work bench and used it to scoop out the poor thing, deciding that it deserved more dignity than simply being dumped out into the weeds. As they lifted it out with the trowel, though, they processed what exactly they were looking at. And what they saw startled them so badly that they nearly dropped it.

It wasn’t a rat at all. It was…

“A borrower?” Joan said, staring down at it in shock. Joan loved those books as a kid, and they’d grown up searching for signs of tiny people living in their house. But borrowers weren’t real. This couldn’t possibly be one. It was much more likely that this was a doll, but they had to admit… it sure didn’t look like a doll. It was too realistic. Too… limp, where it lay on the trowel.

Joan suddenly jerked upright. Whatever this thing was, it needed help! Oh, crap, was it dead already?

They hurried to the work table and set down the trowel, gently lifting the tiny form off of it with trembling fingers. They laid it flat on its back, hovering uncertainly. It had a mouse tail, they noticed with a distant feeling. They didn't remember borrowers having those.

“Hello?” Joan asked, prodding it in the side. “Can you hear me?”

There was no response.

“Okay, okay….” Joan raked a hand through their hair, then rolled the borrower, or whatever it was, onto its side. Their side? Her side? Her, Joan thought. Possibly.

A bit of water dribbled from her lips, which were tinged blue.

F*ck.

Joan tried to recall anything they could about reviving a drowning victim. They were pretty sure they’d heard something about “rescue breaths” back in high school health class, but how were they supposed to give mouth-to-mouth to something so small? Should they find a straw or something? Would that work?

Joan shook their head. They didn’t have time for this. 

They turned the creature onto her back once more, tilting her head back to open up the airway as best they could. Then, using one fingertip, they started CPR—or an approximation of it.

A line from the Bee Gees song _Stayin’ Alive_ repeated in their mind as they worked, trying to keep a steady rhythm. Joan watched with bated breath for any kind of response.

Just when they were starting to think they were too late, the tiny body beneath their fingertips gave a shudder. Joan retracted their hand with a gasp, and watched as the possible borrower spluttered, water streaming from her mouth and nose as she turned onto her side, gasping and choking. She drew her limbs together, curling in on herself as best she could manage, spasming as she coughed up the last of the water in her lungs and struggled to draw a proper breath.

A dizzying wave of relief washed over Joan, almost making them stagger. She was alive. She was still cold and wet, and weak as a day-old kitten; and she’d certainly have some impressive bruises on her chest, but she was alive. She was _alive_.

“Are you okay?” Joan asked as the form shuddered into stillness. Their fingernails dug into the tabletop, yard work entirely forgotten.

The tiny woman turned her head, staring up at Joan with half-lidded eyes. Her short dark hair was plastered to her head. Some color had returned to her face, and her lips weren’t blue anymore, but she looked like she was barely awake. She’d started shivering weakly, her breaths still ragged. She tried to say something, but Joan couldn’t make out what it was. They leaned closer, and she flinched.

“Sorry, I just can’t hear you,” they explained, feeling guilty even though they’d literally just saved this impossible creature’s life.

“Are you going to eat me?” she asked, her voice shaking with either exhaustion, fear, or cold, or possibly a combination of all three. Her words were so disjointed that a full second passed before Joan deciphered what she’d said.

“Wait—what? No,” they said, startled.

“Kill me? Keep me prisoner? Make me, like, a pet or something?”

“No, no! Nothing like that! I don’t—I wouldn’t do that. I just _saved_ you. You _drowned._ I was just trying to help. I _swear_.”

She blinked, very slowly. She seemed to consider for a moment, then let her head flop back to the side.

She muttered something that sounded like “Alright, then, babes.” Which seemed like an odd thing to say at that moment, but Joan supposed they couldn’t judge. Before they could say anything more—like to ask, for example, how she had ended up in that bucket, or if she really _was_ a borrower—her eyes had fluttered shut.

Joan hesitated for only a second before they scooped her up in their hands. They carried her to their car, unlocking it with their free hand, and laid her gently on the passenger seat, turning on the seat warmer for her. They practically ran back to grab their gloves, clippers, and rake, tossing them in the back of the car. Perhaps they should have just left them behind, but they were rather frazzled at the time.

They sent a quick text to their aunt, apologizing and explaining that they’d get the yard work done once everything had dried off a bit. A reply pinged on their phone, but Joan had already shoved the phone back into their pocket, and they didn’t care to check it. With one more glance at their unexpected passenger, Joan stepped on the gas, racing for home.

…

Later, sitting in their living room, Joan did their best to dry off the tiny creature with a towel, but her clothes remained stubbornly wet. Finally, they’d given up. They muttered an apology and carefully removed the soggy garments, deciding it was more important to get her dry and warm. Hopefully she would understand. Joan’s gaze lingered briefly on the bruises already forming on her chest, but they quickly averted their eyes.

They wrapped her up in a blanket and laid that on top of a heating pad. They set the clothes off to the side, spreading them out so that they’d dry faster.

Finally, she was settled, and Joan sat back in their chair.

Now, all they had to do was wait for her to wake up. Then they could figure out what the heck she was and what they were supposed to do with her.


	2. Remy Character Design




	3. Chapter 3

Joan was on their phone, looking through emails and texts for anything important. Despite trying to get some work done, most of their attention was still focused on something else entirely. They certainly felt that that distraction was understandable, though, given the circumstances. Occasionally, they couldn’t help but look up towards the coffee table and the blanket folded on top of it. The tiny person within hadn’t woken since they’d brought her home, and Joan couldn’t help but worry. They knew that the long-term success rate of CPR wasn’t exactly as high as a lot of TV shows would have its viewers believe, and Joan had no idea how long she’d been in that bucket before they arrived. They were hopeful, though. She seemed to be in good shape, other than the whole almost drowning thing. They believed she would pull through.

Joan glanced up again as a soft sound came from the table. As Joan had found out shortly after getting the tiny person settled in, she snored. It was very quiet, which didn’t surprise Joan given the woman’s size; but in the absence of their car’s engine and the roaring in their ears, they could hear it. They’d been a bit worried at first, slightly adjusting how her head rested to see if that helped, but it seemed that she just snored. They decided to view it positively. As long as she was snoring, they knew she was breathing. That was good.

If only she would wake up, so they could know she was okay.

“You’re probably pretty tired, huh?” Joan murmured into the quiet. They imagined that nearly drowning would take a lot out of a person. “That’s alright. Take as long as you need.”

…

A new message popped up on Joan’s phone, drawing their attention away from the borrower, or whatever she was, for the time being. They would have ignored it, but….

**Talyn**: What time are you picking up Marco?

Joan swore under their breath. In all the excitement, they’d nearly forgotten about him. Marco, their own dog. That just went to show how distracted they were, that they could forget that lovable furball for even a moment. They tapped on the message and typed a response.

**Joan**: Not sure. Later?

The reply popped up within moments.

**Talyn**: Are you still pulling weeds? Isn’t it dark out?

Joan glanced out the window. The sun had in fact gone down, but the sky was still fairly light.

**Joan**: Not much longer

**Talyn**: Damn, must be a lot of weeds.

**Talyn**: Don’t trip over a rock and die, dumb*ss.

**Joan**: There go my weekend plans 😥

**Talyn**: What a shame

**Talyn**: Seriously tho, I’ve got work at 7

**Joan**: Gross, late shift?

**Talyn**: Yeah. :P Come get yo dog.

A photo popped up. Marco was curled up on the floor at Talyn’s feet, looking up at the camera with his big brown eyes. His ears were pricked in a way that made Joan think that Talyn had absolutely just called the dog’s name to get his attention for the photo.

**Talyn**: Look at him, he misses you :(

Joan sighed, glancing at the time. They couldn’t make Talyn late for work, but there were other factors to consider. One in particular, they thought, grimacing as they looked to the tiny woman asleep on the table in front of them. What if Marco tried to bother her once they brought him back here? Would she be safe? Aside from that, they really hated to leave. It would take only a short amount of time to get their dog, but enough to worry Joan. What would happen if the tiny woman woke up while they were gone?

But if Talyn decided to come _here_ to drop off Marco… that could be bad. If Joan knew one thing about borrowers, it was that they wanted as few people to know about them as possible. Granted, that number was generally 0, but the cat was already out of the bag for Joan. Joan assumed that whatever this girl was, borrower or not, probably wanted the same secrecy, given that they had thought that tiny people were nothing but a fairy tale only a few hours ago.

They thought for a moment, fingers tapping uncertainly on their phone case.

**Joan**: Ok, five min

And so, reluctantly, Joan got ready to leave.

They made sure that the curtains and blinds on the windows were firmly shut, preventing anyone from peeking in and spotting the tiny person—one of the drawbacks of living in a first floor apartment was that this was a distinct possibility. Thankfully, people were generally not that creepy, but it would be just Joan’s luck for today to be the one time some weirdo decided to snoop around. And, as they had established, they were not taking chances.

“Sorry,” Joan said, looking towards the coffee table as they put on their jacket and grabbed their keys. “I’ll be back soon.”

The tiny woman, of course, didn’t answer. The only response they received was another soft snore.

“Okay,” Joan sighed, turning away.

They triple checked the lock as they left the apartment, glad that there was virtually no chance that anyone else would go barging in while they weren’t home. They lived alone; and they were, in fact, the landlord of this building. So, no one had a key to this apartment but them, which was honestly very reassuring.

Satisfied, or as close to satisfied as they would get, Joan hurried out of the building, planning to return as soon as possible.

…

Remy drifted into consciousness slowly.

She knew that she was warm, that it was dark, and that she was lying down on her side with something soft wrapped around her. It might have been nice, had it not been for the fact that her chest felt like someone had yeeted a brick at it, or the fact that she felt so weak that she was pretty sure she couldn’t get up even if she wanted to.

Her eyesight came gradually into focus, and her gaze fell on her own hands, curled in front of her on the fuzzy, dark blue surface of the… what? A blanket? She didn’t know what else it would have been. But why was she wrapped in a blanket? Remy loved herself a good blanket burrito, but she had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there.

She turned her head, feeling dizzy at the motion, and tried to look around. It looked like there was some sort of ceiling far above her, but it was hard to tell in the darkness. Was she in a_ house?_ What the heck?

Remy thought back, trying to piece things together. She’d been looking for a new home, she knew, because those pricks in her old house had called an exterminator. She remembered being outside, the storm, and the tomatoes…. She swallowed against her rough throat. She’d been trying to get down from the work bench, she remembered. And… her dumb foot had slipped. And then… she’d fallen.

Oh.

Remy narrowed her eyes. Why wasn’t she dead? She should have drowned in that bucket. She_ had_ drowned in that bucket, hadn’t she? She remembered the time passing, passing, passing, her attempts to stay afloat growing weaker and weaker until it simply became too difficult. She remembered feeling terrified as her head started to dip below the water, the exhaustion overpowering her, her heavy, waterlogged clothes only helping to pull her down faster.

So… why had she just woken up here? And why did her chest hurt so bad? None of this made any sense.

“Am I dead?” she wondered aloud. Her voice was so rough and quiet that if she hadn’t known it was her own, she wouldn’t have recognized it.

Unsurprisingly, no one answered her.

Remy coughed, then hissed at the fresh stab of pain this caused.

No… she didn’t think she was dead. Maybe heaven, or whatever, if there even was such a thing, really was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket in the dark, but Remy felt too much like crap for that to make sense. Any reasonable afterlife would have given her a cup of coffee by now, too. Decent coffee. And if hell was real and she was there, Remy was pretty sure it would be much worse than this. No, she was definitely still alive.

Remy thought harder, trying to focus her sluggish brain.

Oh. _Oh_. Sh*t.

That human. She remembered now. A human had been there… saying something… And Remy had said something back? She remembered being scared. She’d wanted to know what the human was doing there. She remembered feeling weirdly detached, like the didn’t care what happened, which was_ so _not like her. But she couldn’t recall any more detail than that.

The human must have taken her, she realized, working her fingers into the fibers of the warm blanket. That wasn’t good. She should probably do something about that.

Remy breathed, in and out, then started to move. “Come on, girl, get off your butt,” she urged herself in that painfully hoarse voice. She struggled to push herself up on shaking limbs, but they wouldn’t hold her, and she collapsed back down almost immediately. Her breath left her in a rush.

“…After a nap,” she conceded.

…

“Good boy,” Joan said, closing the bedroom door with a click. “Sorry, bud. It’s just for a little while.”

The corgi on the other side of the door barked once unhappily. His clawed paws tapped anxiously on the wooden floor as he paced back and forth.

“I know, I know,” Joan sighed. “I want to let you run around, too, but I can’t right now. Good boy. We’ll play later. Go lay down.”

Marco whined in response, but Joan could already hear him laying down beside the door. They could clearly picture the pout that the dog was undoubtedly directing at Joan through the wood.

Marco was a good dog. He was three years old, and Joan had owned him for only two of those, but he was already pretty well-trained. He also had a very low prey drive, and was so short that he had trouble even reaching the edges of the coffee table. So, really, the totally-not-a-borrower was probably completely safe even if they did let the dog roam freely. But Joan wasn’t taking any chances.

Besides, she’d probably freak out if she woke up to a comparatively gigantic, unknown dog in her face. Joan knew they would, in her place. She had no way of knowing that Marco wouldn’t hurt her, and Joan couldn’t 100% guarantee that she would have no reason to be afraid.

Even without the dog around, she’d probably be freaked out enough already when she saw Joan there, alone. They winced at the thought.

There was always the chance that things would go smoothly… right?

Whatever would happen, Joan decided to just settle themself back into their chair and wait. There wasn’t much else left to do. The tiny person wrapped in the blanket was still asleep, snoring softly, and Joan wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before she woke. It looked like she might have moved while Joan was gone, but they couldn’t be sure. She really was very small, and it wasn’t as if they’d taken note of her exact position before they left. Plus, she was almost completely covered by the blanket.

Joan reached forward and poked at the clothes that they had laid out off to the side. They had dried by now, thankfully.

They retracted their hand, intending to go back to checking emails on their phone and to trying not to think too much about their unexpected companion; but a soft groan came from the table. Joan paused, their eyebrows lifting.

The tiny woman shifted in the blanket, her eyelids fluttering.

Joan opened their mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. They figured they should probably stay quiet.

Her eyes opened. Joan leaned back, hoping to let the tiny woman gain her bearings without their interference.

She blinked, her eyes travelling slowly around the room. Then, she sighed, almost in a resigned sort of way. Like she was thinking, “Oh, great. I really am here.” Perhaps she had woken up while Joan was gone after all.

She pushed herself up on an elbow, wincing, and looked down at herself.

“What the hell,” she muttered, probably noticing she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Joan winced again.

The faint movement drew her attention, and she seemed to see Joan for the first time. Her eyes went wide; and she froze, her hand gripping the blanket tightly.

“Um…. Hi,” Joan said awkwardly.

It was like the noise unfroze her. She shrieked, scrambling backwards on all fours with the blanket still clutched around herself. Her movements were stiff and sluggish, like she still hadn’t fully recovered from her ordeal. But the alarm on her face was clear to see.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Joan said. “I’m not gonna hurt ya, promise.”

The woman stopped, breathing hard, then slowly turned to stare up at them, her skeptical expression hard enough to scratch diamond. A long moment of silence passed. It was only seconds, but to Joan, it felt like hours. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Maybe I’m wrong,” she said, her voice hoarse, “but to me, it _kiiinda_ seems like you _already_ hurt me, b*tchboy.”

Joan blinked, taken a little off-guard by her words, then found their voice again. “I’m sorry,” they said, willing her to hear the honesty in their words. “I had to do that. You were drowning; it was that or let you die.” They rubbed a hand through their hair. “And, uh… I’m actually not a boy. I’m Joan. They/them pronouns.”

The tiny woman blinked, looking them up and down. “Still a b*tch, though,” she muttered.

Joan laughed, more out of surprise than amusement, not noticing how she tensed. “Maybe,” they agreed, before leaning forward marginally. “Really, though,” they continued more seriously. “Those bruises on your chest? They’re from CPR. You weren’t breathing when I found you.”

The tiny woman stared for a second, unconsciously putting a hand to her chest.

“You’re okay now, though,” Joan said. They hoped. “And—look, I’ve got your clothes right here.” They reached forward to grab them, and the woman flinched back. Joan froze. “Oh… sorry.”

A beat passed, and then Joan slowly reached for the clothes again. They brought them nearer to the tiny woman and set them beside her. She didn’t flinch away this time, which they counted as a win.

“How are you feeling?” Joan asked.

The tiny woman just stared at them warily.

“Come on, please? If something’s wrong, maybe I can help.” Was she really okay after nearly drowning like that? After all, they had no idea how long she had been in that bucket before they found her. And had they hurt her when they did CPR? They’d bruised her, yes, but they hoped they had done nothing more serious. What if they’d broken one of her ribs or something? Could Joan even do anything about it if they had?

The woman scoffed.

Joan frowned, drawn from their worried thoughts. “What?”

She glanced at her clothes, her fingers tight around the blanket, then looked back up at them. Joan could clearly picture how, if she had had sunglasses, she would have lowered them to stare at them over their frames. “L-look, babes, I don’t know what your _deal _is, but this ain’t cute. I know you’re not some sweet, kind guardian angel sent to like, save me or—or whatever. So you can just cut the sh*t.”

Joan opened their mouth and shut it again. The tiny woman glared at them as they tried to come up with a response. 

“There, uh… there _is_ no deal,” they said. “I just found you, and I couldn’t leave you there to die. I don’t have a plan or anything. Honestly, I don’t know what the f*ck I’m doing.”

“Right,” she drawled, clearly trying to seem aloof and unfazed; but Joan could hear the fear in her voice. Great. “And was undressing me part of this totally non-existent plan of yours?”

Joan groaned internally and rubbed at their eyes. “You were soaked to the bone and freezing,” they said. “You already drowned, I didn’t want you dying from hypothermia.”

The tiny woman coughed, wincing, then continued to glare at them. “So, what, girl, I’m just supposed to believe you did all this to help me?”

“Why else would I do it?”

“Gurl, how should_ I _know? For all I know you’re planning to like, kill me or whatever.”

Joan looked down with a slightly frustrated sigh. “Okay, well… uh…. Believe it or not, I guess, but I want you to get better. I’m sure as hell not going to hurt you. It’s… I don’t mean to be, like, harsh, but if I wanted to kill you, all I had to do was nothing. And… well, obviously I didn’t do that.”

She swallowed.

Joan glanced at the time on their phone. They should probably give Marco his dinner, or he’d start whining. “Look, um… I’ll be back in a second. Just, I don’t know, get dressed, try to relax. I’ll be back with some water for you.” They got to their feet, noticing how the girl’s eyes widened as she craned her neck back to see them.

Joan scrunched their eyes shut for a fraction of a second, then sighed, opened them again, and left the room.

This was going about as smoothly as they’d expected.

…

As soon as the human disappeared into the other room, Remy grabbed for her clothes and got dressed as fast as her tired and sore limbs would allow. She didn’t bother with the shirt, just pulling her jacket around herself. Her clumsy fingers fumbled to tie the belt at her waist. When she was done, she probably looked like a disaster. She was pretty sure she even had the wrong boots on each foot; but whatever, right? Why not let her outside reflect how she felt on the inside?

She didn’t see her backpack or her hook and rope anywhere, which in retrospect was probably too much to hope for. It was a waste of precious time to even consider trying to find them. Why would the human have brought home her stuff? It wasn’t like they could use them.

She staggered to her feet, nearly sending herself crashing back down as she tripped over the folds of the blanket. Away from its warmth, the cold air washed over her and made her shiver. She took a deep breath, swaying, and hurried to the edge of the table she was on. That’s right. Of course, she was on a table. She didn’t have a hook or rope, and she was a full foot and a half off the ground. It sure would have been nice of her “rescuer” to leave her on the floor where she had a better chance of getting away. But it couldn’t be that easy, could it?

She looked around, her head spinning at how fast she moved, and her eyes fell on the heating pad underneath the blanket she’d woken up in. It was electric, she realized. She could see the cord attached to it. Finally, something she could use.

Remy hurried over to where that cord reached over the edge of the table and down towards the floor, and she made quick work of shimmying down its length. Which had nothing to do with the fact that it was mostly a barely-controlled fall. Shut up. She was trying, here.

Regardless of her now splitting headache, the crushing pain in her chest, and the throbbing in her ankle and hip that she may or may not have hurt in that <strike>fall</strike> _climb_ down from the table, she was on the floor. But Remy didn’t have time to feel triumphant. She had to find a way out. She was not waiting around to see what this human wanted with her. No, ma’am.


	4. Let's Make a Deal

Joan brought Marco’s food and water bowls into their bedroom, both balanced on one arm as they opened the door.

“Hey bud,” Joan said, smiling at the dog eagerly prancing around their feet, his fluffy tail waving through the air with a frenzy.

Marco made a little yipping noise, bouncing like he wanted to hop right up into Joan’s arms.

“No, no, no jumping,” Joan said, grinning wider. They set down the bowls and Marco shoved his face into the food. From the fervor he attacked that food with, anyone would think he hadn’t been fed in days. Joan shook their head fondly, ruffling the soft fur at the back of his neck. Marco’s wagging tail went into turbo drive at the touch.

“Good boy,” Joan said, slipping back out into the hall as their dog eagerly gulped up the rest of the food. Time to go check in on their new friend and bring her some food and water, too.

Out in the kitchen, they looked through their cabinets, trying to find a suitably small container. They settled on a small glazed ceramic bowl meant for dipping sauces, which was technically larger than their shot glasses; but they chose it because it was shorter and would be easier for the tiny woman to reach into while sitting down. Choice made, Joan filled the bowl about three quarters of the way with water. As small as it was, the bowl was still an almost ridiculously large container for the job, but they couldn’t think of anything better. It would do, in any case. Then, they opened the pantry and looked inside, frowning as they tried to decide what she might like to eat. In the end, they just grabbed a small handful of cereal. If she didn’t like it, they could always go back for something else. They carried their cargo back into the living room, approaching the coffee table cautiously.

“Hey, uh…. Hey there.” Jeez. Joan really needed to ask for this girl’s name. “I’ve got some stuff for ya.” They came nearer, then frowned, not seeing her in the bundled blanket, or anywhere else on the table for that matter. Where was she?

A quiet squeak drew their attention.

They turned around; and there she was, standing on shaky legs on the carpet and staring up at them with wide eyes. She was dressed now, a little haphazardly, but definitely dressed, which was good. This would be a lot more weird if the impossibly tiny, mouse-tailed lady they’d found practically drowned in a bucket at their aunt’s house was now running around their apartment naked.

…Okay, this was still pretty f*cking weird. Joan wouldn’t be surprised to find out this was all some kind of strange dream. It wouldn’t be the strangest one they’d had, to be fair. (Just last week they had one where they went clubbing with Elmo from _Sesame Street_ and Santa Claus, who for some reason spoke in a thick Boston accent and kept trying to smoke candy cigarettes.)

Joan shoved those thoughts aside, knowing they had to focus on the situation at hand.

“There you are,” they sighed in relief. They were quite glad to find the tiny mouse-tailed lady, that she seemed to be more or less okay; but they couldn’t help but feel sad and disappointed, too. The frightened way she was looking at Joan felt like a harsh blow. Although, they supposed they really should have expected something like this to happen. It wasn’t as if she had asked to be brought here. She had no idea who Joan was or what they wanted.

Meanwhile, the tiny, mouse-tailed young woman took a step back, her whole body stiff. Joan was glad to see she could walk, but it was obvious that they had caught her in the middle of trying to escape. And she was clearly afraid of what they would do to her because of it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Joan said quickly, their voice soft. “Don’t worry! I’m not mad. Just….” They took a couple of steps back to increase the space between them, then uncertainly lowered themself down to crouch on the floor; and they set down the bowl of water and the saucer they’d put the cereal on. “I brought you some water,” they tempted, nudging the bowl nearer. “And I have some food here, if you’re hungry…?”

Her eyes flicked to the bowl before snapping back to Joan’s face. They weren’t sure she really processed what they said. They would have thought that getting down to her level would help, at the very least making it so she didn’t have to crane her neck back so far to look at them, but she didn’t seem to be any more at ease. Her face had drained of its color, and up close they could see how she swayed where she stood.

They opened their mouth to ask if she was okay; but before they could make a sound, her dark eyes rolled up in her head; and she toppled over backwards.

…

Remy leaned against the leg of the coffee table, needing to steady herself and catch her breath, as she looked around for a possible way out.

This would have been a lot easier if she hadn’t felt like absolute crap. Her breaths were wheezing in and out, each one causing the pain in her chest to spike in magnitude. Her head was cloudy, her vision swimming. She really just wanted to lay down and go to sleep, but she knew that she couldn’t do that. She had to get out of here before the human came back. She might not get another chance.

What were the odds of there being any doorways into the walls of this house? A window left open? A widely-spaced air vent? A loose electric outlet? Anything? She didn’t see any obvious opportunities, which sucked, so she decided that the best (and obvious) course of action for now was to get out of plain sight. She pushed off of the coffee table and started forwards, stumbling towards one of the chairs. She figured she could hide underneath, at least for the moment.

Before she could reach it, footsteps came from the other room, shaking the floor. The human had already returned. They stopped between the table and Remy herself, facing the table. Remy froze, wanting to keep going towards her hiding place but not knowing if the human would notice her movement.

“Hey, uh… Hey there,” they were saying, apparently not noticing her absence. “I’ve got some stuff for ya.”

A beat passed. Remy could sense the second the human realized she wasn’t actually there. They took a half step back, confused, and Remy let out an alarmed, involuntary squeak as that huge foot suddenly came that much nearer.

She wanted to kick herself.

The human turned around, of course, and spotted her down on the ground. She felt herself blanch, frozen to the spot.

“There you are,” Joan said, the relief in their voice as evident as the disappointment.

Remy’s heart was hammering, and it was her turn to take a step back. She suddenly very much regretted getting down from that table. The human had played nice so far, but that was before Remy had tried to get away. Her mouth hung open slightly, the little stricken completely speechless for once in her life. The thought of trying to run was at the forefront of her mind, but Remy felt rooted to the spot. She knew that especially in her current state she wouldn’t be able to outrun them—just look at how amazingly far she had made it this far.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the human said, taking a couple of steps back and lowering themself down to the floor, bringing those huge hands and that huge face even closer, and Remy’s eyes widened.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Everything hurt, and she was so tired and dizzy and she just wanted it all to _stop_.

And before she knew what was happening, it did.

…

When the tiny form before them collapsed to the floor, Joan let out a gasp and surged forwards. They reached a hand towards her, then stopped, remembering how afraid she had looked. They hesitantly retracted the hand, instead studying her from above. She was splayed out on the floor, her eyes shut. Joan was suddenly very glad that the floor in this room was carpeted. At least that would have helped break her fall.

Their worried gaze fell on her chest. Occasionally, the creases in the fabric of her jacket moved. She was still breathing. Joan let out a relieved breath, which ruffled her hair slightly. They sat up and moved back to where they had been before, noting gladly that they hadn’t knocked over the bowl of water in their haste to check on the tiny woman.

A minute passed, then two. And then, finally, Joan saw one of her arms twitch. She groaned softly.

Joan heard a muffled bark from the direction of their bedroom. Marco was getting lonely. They felt bad, but they couldn’t worry about that too much for the time being. Their priorities currently lay elsewhere.

The tiny woman stirred again at the noise, and her eyes opened. She stayed there for a few seconds, looking confused, then raised her head. Her eyes locked onto Joan’s face.

“Stay down,” Joan advised. “You’re okay.”

The woman let her head fall back to the carpet. She muttered something under hear breath that sounded like the word “duck”, but which Joan suspected was actually something else.

“I’m not mad,” Joan repeated, remembering the woman’s fear from before. “I get it. It’s okay.”

She said nothing.

“Do you want some water?” they asked. “Or I’ve got some cereal here.”

They had expected to be ignored again, or maybe a snarky comment, but after a moment, the tiny person said, “You first.”

“Me first?” Joan echoed.

She looked up at them again, and did her best to nod.

Did she really think they would poison her? Joan blinked, then shrugged, figuring there was no harm in proving her wrong. While she watched, Joan lifted the bowl of water to their lips and took a drink. They made sure she could see them swallow it. Then, they ate a few pieces of the cereal.

She struggled to sit up once they were done, and Joan watched anxiously, barely able to keep themself from reaching out to help.

“Hand it over, doll,” she said.

…

Remy was surprised that she woke up to find herself still on the floor. She might have expected to be back on the table, or worse, in the human’s grip. But, no, she was just laying on her back on the carpeted floor. She was dizzy and sick and even more sore than before, but it could have been much worse. She could have been dead, for one. To be honest, though, she didn’t think there had been much of a chance of that happening. Though she loathed to admit it, the human had been right when they pointed out that if they’d wanted her dead, all they had to do was let her drown.

Speaking of the human.

She lifted up her head, trying to find them. She quickly spotted them a few feet away, watching her with a worried expression.

“Stay down,” they ordered. “You’re okay.”

Nothing about this stupid situation felt “okay” to Remy, but she didn’t feel much like getting up yet anyhow. She let her head fall back to the carpet, cursing under her breath.

“I’m not mad,” Joan said. “I get it. It’s okay.”

_Do you, now? _Remy thought.

“Do you want some water? Or I’ve got some cereal here.”

Remy felt like she’d had enough water for a lifetime; and yet, her throat did feel pretty scratchy. And at the mention of food, her empty stomach was tempted to growl, but Remy silently threatened it into submission.

Where was the trick? Whether this human had saved her or not (and she had to admit that they had, as much as she hated it), they had to want _something_ from her.

“You first,” she said slowly, watching them with wary eyes.

Surprisingly, they did as she asked. She supposed the drink of water could have been faked, but it looked pretty dang real to her, and she really did want to soothe her poor throat.

She sat up, her sore chest protesting. “Hand it over, doll,” she said as calmly as she could.

The water was pushed towards her, then the saucer full of pieces of cereal.

While she elegantly stuffed her face, Joan quietly cleared their throat.

“So, uh,” they said, making her pause, “you know I’m Joan, but… what’s your name?”

Remy swallowed the piece of cereal she’d been chewing. “Nunya,” she said, the nerves in her stomach thankfully not making it into her voice.

“Nunya?” they repeated, sounding almost amused.

“Nunya Business.” Remy had heard that once on a human television show. She was proud of herself for pulling that on an actual human. And also mildly horrified. Although, she had already called them a b*tch, and they hadn’t been mad at her for saying _that_.

To Remy’s surprise, the human started to smile. “Nunya Business, huh? Alright, Nunya. Nice to meet you.”

Remy stared at them. Were they actually going to call her that? Did the human not get her joke? Had she messed it up somehow?

Joan laughed at the look on her face. “I know that’s not really your name,” they said. “But, hey, you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

“You’re… you’re not going to like, try to make me tell you?” Remy asked.

“No? I’d like to know, obviously, but it’s your name. You don’t want to share, that’s fine.”

Remy searched their face for a second, then reached for another piece of cereal with an awkward shrug. “Good, then.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

Remy just took a bite of the cereal, watching them.

“Are you…. Are you, um, a borrower?”

Remy swallowed. “A what?”

“A borrower. They’re, um, these tiny people. They’re called borrowers because they take things from humans to survive. You know, like house mice, but… people.” They shrugged, looking slightly disappointed, like they had been hoping Remy was one of these creatures. “But I don’t think they have tails, like you do. And I thought they were fictional. At least… until today, I guess.”

“Uh… no,” Remy said, hoping that was okay to admit. “I’m not a borrower.” That did sound disturbingly _like_ what she was, but she’d never heard that word before. _That wouldn’t be a very good name, anyway,_ she thought. _I don’t borrow things, I steal them._ She tactfully decided not to disclose what she actually was, just as she hadn’t shared her real name, or the fact that she stole from humans to survive.

The human sighed, adjusting the beanie that sat on their head and looking around. “Are you feeling okay?” they asked, glancing back at her. “Better?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” Remy said, bristling.

“Well, you did just pass out on my living room floor,” Joan pointed out. “I’d like to know if that’s about to happen again.”

Okay, fair point, but still rude.

“I’m…” Remy hesitated, not knowing what the right answer was here. That she was fine? That wasn’t exactly true, and if Joan decided to somehow hold her to that answer, the truth would come out pretty quick. But if she said she didn’t feel well, would the human take advantage of that?

Although, the human was already a hundred times her size. They didn’t exactly need any more advantages.

“I’m tired,” she admitted at last, watching warily for the human’s reaction.

“Um…” Joan hesitated. “Well, I think it’d be good if you wanted to go back to sleep, or at least lie down. I don’t think the floor is the best place, though….”

“No tables,” Remy said quickly, thinking of her sore hip and ankle.

“Well… the thing is, I have a dog,” they said. “So….”

Remy’s eyes widened. “Okay. Nope. Good day, ma’am; I’ll be going now.” Remy grabbed the edge of the bowl, using it to pull herself to her feet.

_“Wait—”_

Remy flinched, her grip tight on the ceramic bowl, and the human broke off.

“He’s in my room right now,” they said, their voice now low and measured. “He can’t get to you, and I doubt he’d want to do anything, anyway. He’s a sweetheart. He’s even gentle with beetles he finds on the sidewalk. I won’t let him near you, though, not if you don’t want to be near him.”

“Why not just let me go?” she asked.

“Let you go?”

“Yes, let me go,” she repeated. “You know. Allow me to leave. To take part. To bounce. To get the hell out of Dodge. To get the f*ck out of this place.”

The human bit their lip. They leaned forward slightly, and Remy had to force herself not to shrink away. Her legs might have been shaking, but she would blame that on her exhaustion, and no number of naysayers could change that assertion.

“I’m not keeping you here,” Joan said. “You can leave whenever you want.”

Remy’s eyes drifted towards the chair, idly wondering if she should try to run and hide before they could go back on their word. She hardly dared believe that their words might be true.

“But,” the human said—Ah, there it was— “I’d really prefer if you stayed here a couple of days. You almost drowned, and that’s not something a lot of people can just walk off. I just want to be sure you’re okay.”

“And what if I say no?” Remy asked, probably dooming herself with her own defiance. “Are you going to force me?”

Joan licked their lips. “No,” they sighed. “No, I won’t force you.”

They had hesitated. Remy took a step back, as far as she could go without letting go of the bowl, her knee threatening to buckle under her weight. Her short tail flicked back and forth in agitation.

“Two days?” she echoed suspiciously. “That’s all?”

Joan spread their hands. “That’s all. Two days, and then you can go if you want. I’ll even take you back where I found you, if you want, so you can find your way home.”

Remy shifted, considering. She did _not_ want to stay with a human, but she had nowhere else to go, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t make it if she left right now in the state she was in and with no supplies. If she could get back to the work bench, she could get her rope and hook back. And with those, maybe she could go fishing for her backpack. She’d have a chance, at least.

Plus, Remy knew she probably shouldn’t push her luck too far with the human.

“Today counts,” she said anyway.

Joan shook their head. “No, today doesn’t count.”

“Yes, it does, girl; it’s a day, and I am here, and therefore it counts.”

Joan sighed through their nose. “Fine. Today counts, but only the part of the day you were here for. I brought you home at three-thirty. So, at three-thirty tomorrow afternoon,_ that _will be the end of the first day. Deal?”

Remy glanced around the room. “What about the dog?”

Joan glanced over their shoulder, probably towards wherever the beast was hiding. “Well….” They tapped their fingers on their knees, then brightened as they got an idea. “If you’re really against being on a table, I guess I could keep you in—or I mean, you could stay in the guest room. That way I could close the door and Marco wouldn’t be able to get in.”

Remy frowned.

“Just two days,” Joan repeated, their voice softer.

Remy looked down at her reflection in the bowl she held onto, mulling it over. She looked about as horrific as she would have expected. Her hair was a tangled mess, barely recognizable at this point as having once been neatly tied in a short ponytail. Her face was pale, making her freckles and the shadows around her eyes stand out sharply. She looked, in short, like hell.

“Two days,” she said finally. “Two days, and then you take me back.”

The tension left Joan’s shoulders. They slowly held out one hand, their pointer finger extended. “Shake on it, Nunya?”

Remy leaned back, hesitating for a long moment, before finally reaching forward and putting her hand to the human’s fingertip in an almost comical approximation of a handshake.

She hoped she wasn't making a giant mistake.


	5. Chapter 5

Remy hesitantly sat back down as Joan moved away, going back to eating the cereal that they had brought her. Despite the deal they had just settled on, she couldn’t help the wariness with which she watched the human. A part of her feared that she had just made a horrible mistake. She subtly rubbed the palm of her hand on her trousers. It felt weird where it had touched the human’s.

“So, when you’re done, is it cool if I bring you to the guest room?” Joan asked.

Remy swallowed, glancing in their direction.

“It’s just, you know, a pretty far walk for you.”

“Girl, I’m not a baby,” Remy muttered pointedly. “I can walk to this dumb room.”

Joan looked unconvinced, but they just shrugged and sat back, their gaze wandering around the room while Remy had her fill of the food and water. She took her sweet time, just to prove that she could, but her stomach filled up pretty quickly. Staring at how much cereal was left, Remy’s hands itched to take some pieces for later. She had nowhere to put them, though, thanks to her dumb self getting her dumb backpack stuck at the bottom of that dumb bucket. Still, maybe she could stick a few pieces in her coat or something? She silently cursed the fact that she’d never gotten around to adding pockets. Her old coat had had pockets. Why was Remy too lazy to put some on this one?

“What’s up?”

Remy jumped and jerked around to look at Joan, who was watching her with a soft frown. “Nothing,” she said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Really?”

Remy rolled her eyes at them and scoffed.

They held up their hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, if you say so, I believe you. Are you ready to go?”

“Are _you?”_ Remy challenged. She got back to her feet, holding back a wince.

Joan scooted back and started to stand as well. “Okay. It’s just this way. They took a hesitant step in the direction of the doorway. Remy started walking, limping slightly on her injured leg, one arm wrapped around her middle in a fashion she was trying to play off as casual. Really, it was so that the motion of walking wouldn’t hurt her ribs so much. But the human didn’t need to know that. Joan waited for her, standing just outside the doorway.

Several long minutes later, Remy made it to the doorway, which led out into the human’s kitchen.

Joan strode across the linoleum tile floor, towards what looked like a hallway, and stood there awkwardly, waiting for her to catch up. Remy was growing more and more annoyed with herself and how slowly she was moving, and with the human who was just watching her plod along. She tried to find some satisfaction in making them wait, but really she just felt incompetent. She wasn’t so much walking as shuffling. It was embarrassing.

“This is stupid,” Joan said finally. “It’ll take like ten seconds, if you’ll just let me—”

“No,” Remy said flatly.

“I’ve picked you up before,” Joan said. “And it’s not like I….” They trailed off, apparently thinking better of whatever they had been about to say. From the look on their face, Remy guessed they had been about to claim that they hadn’t hurt her, which they _had_, whether or not it truly was in an attempt to help. The human let out a frustrated breath through their nose. “Please?”

“No carrying.” Remy gave them a firm look.

Joan looked around, searching. “What if… what if you stood in a box or something, and I picked _that_ up? You’re not in my hands then, right?”

Remy leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to cough. “Nice try babes, but that’s still carrying me. I didn’t agree to be carried. No. Not part of your dumb deal.”

“Well, we’ve got to think of something, because at this rate your two days will be up before you even get to the room, and I’ve got a dog to take care of.” They gestured to one of the doors down the hall, behind which the dog must have been. Remy subtly scooted herself in the opposite direction.

“Not my problem,” Remy said, shrugging.

Joan gave her an unimpressed look. “I don’t get what the problem is,” they said. “Why can’t I just carry you there?”

“How do I know you’re not going to, like, drop me?”

“How do I know you’re not going to _bite_ me?”

“Maybe I will,” Remy sassed, leaning forward and staring up at them sharply.

“Rude,” said Joan.

Remy adjusted her hold on her ribs. “Look, girl, would _you_ want some giant person picking you up and carrying you around like a doll?”

Joan just stared at her for a second, then sighed, seeming to accept defeat. They walked back the way they had come. “Come on… ah….”

Remy listened as the human walked around the apartment, wondering if she should break her agreement and take this opportunity to try to leave. Before she could decide one way or the other, the human returned. They were carrying the blanket she had woken up in. Remy blinked, watching warily, wondering what their new idea was.

“So, how do you feel about stupid ideas?” Joan asked.

Remy stared for a second. “...How stupid are we talking?”

Joan held out the blanket.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve gotta tell you this, girl, but carrying me in a blanket is still carrying me,” Remy pointed out. “That’s like, basic common sense.”

“No, no, look—” They shook out the blanket, letting it unfurl so that the end of it rested in loose folds on the floor. “I pull the blanket, and you sit on the end of it on the floor. Like a sled! It’s a dumb idea, but it’ll work.”

Remy followed the blanket down to the floor, then looked back up at Joan. “You’re right, that is a dumb idea.”

Joan groaned loudly, but Remy was already walking towards the blanket. They blinked in surprise, then smiled in relief as she settled herself down in the fabric and held on.

“Let me know if I’m going too fast,” Joan said. Remy nodded once, apprehensive. “Here we go, then.”

They started to walk, slowly dragging the blanket behind them. The ride was a little jerky, since Joan’s gait wasn’t perfectly even; and it was disconcerting for Remy to feel the floor below as she and the blanket slid over it; but overall, it wasn’t too bad. They reached the guest room a lot faster than they would have if Remy had simply walked there; and, bonus, she was in one piece. Joan paused to open the door, then pulled her in on the blanket.

“I was thinking maybe you could camp out by the air vent?” Joan suggested, pointing to a spot a few feet from the door. “It’ll be warmer there. I’d let you have the heated blanket in here, but I’d rather not leave it on if I’m not here to keep an eye on it.”

Remy could already feel the warm air coming from the vent from where she sat. It felt very pleasant. Still, she hesitated, trying to figure out if there was a possible ulterior motive for the human wanting her to stay there. She could think of nothing, though; so she simply nodded.

“Okay, cool.” Joan waited for her to get off the blanket and to stand next to the wall, then gathered her former sled up in their arms and took it to the spot they’d pointed out. They bunched up one end of the blanket, and folded the rest of it over once to form a sort of enormous bed.

“Great,” Joan said, straightening back up and moving towards the door. As they did, Remy hesitantly made her way over to the blanket and clambered into it. Joan stopped to watch her sit down. “Do you need anything else for now? Maybe some ice? Or some more water?”

_Coffee_, Remy thought. “Ice,” she said instead, putting a hand to her chest.

Joan nodded and headed out the door.

Remy waited a second, then went to lay down in the blanket. She propped herself up on the bunched up part of it, finding that it hurt her ribs less to lay that way; and she kicked off her switched boots, which had started to hurt her feet. She was tempted to go right to sleep, but she wanted to wait for Joan to get back first.

Five-odd minutes later, she heard them approach. Despite knowing what to expect, she couldn’t help but stiffen. They came in carrying a small baggie of round green things, which they set down near the edge of the blanket she was in. Then, closer, they set down a small, patchy piece of gray fabric. She shifted nervously at how close they came to her, then looked down at the fabric. Remy instantly recognized it as her shirt, which she hadn’t bothered putting on under her coat earlier. She turned a light pink and snatched it, looking away.

“Here’s some frozen peas for ya,” Joan said, nudging the baggie. “They should help numb the bruises. Just don’t leave it on too long, okay?”

“Mmhmmm,” Remy said, drawing out the affirmation. She knew how to ice a bruise, thanks. She didn’t usually have easy access to ice to actually do it, but it was a pretty straightforward concept.

“Cool. I’m gonna go take care of Marco, then. I’ll be back in… I don’t know, like twenty minutes? That good?”

Remy shrugged, yawning. She pulled the small bag of peas up onto her chest, sighing contentedly at the cold feeling. “Whatevs,” she said, letting her head lean back against the blanket. Joan got up to leave, and by the time they had closed the door behind them, she was already asleep.

…

Joan held up the toy, waving it back and forth over their dog’s head teasingly. Marco was prancing around on his hind legs, trying to jump up and reach the toy. He barked once, quietly, when he couldn’t get it.

Joan laughed quietly and took pity on him, dropping the toy enough for Marco to grab it. “Shh, shh,” they urged. “Good boy. No barking.”

Marco hopped up to grab the toy and pulled it from their grip. He lay down with it pinned between his paws and chewed happily at the rope. His big brown eyes looked up at Joan as he did so. It was unfair how cute this little dog was.

Joan ruffled the fur between his ears, then sat back, watching their dog with a smile on their face.

As Marco got comfortable, chewing away with his feathery tail dusting the floor behind him, Joan’s phone started playing a tune: the alarm they’d set to tell them to check on “Nunya”. Joan had wanted to check in with her every once in a while, just to be sure that she was okay and to see if she needed anything. Maybe, if she was feeling up to it, they could talk to her a bit more. See what they could do to make her more comfortable. Get to know her, maybe, at least a little bit.

Of course, all of this was assuming she was still there. Joan wasn’t dumb. They knew why she had wanted to be set up on the floor, and not on a table or even on the bed. She wanted to be able to get around more easily, specifically for if she decided to skip out on them before the two days they’d agreed on were up.

It wasn’t like Joan was going to stop her. They wanted her to stay, obviously, since they figured that she’d have a hard time on her own at the moment, and admittedly also because they wanted to know more about her and who and what she was; but they weren’t going to force her to stay any longer than she chose to. For all they knew, she had people waiting for her at home, people who would undoubtedly be worried about her while she was gone. The odds were good that she did. It was the least Joan could do to help her make it back to them.

Joan got up and started towards the guest room, glancing back occasionally to make sure that Marco hadn’t followed them. Thankfully, he stayed on the floor, happily occupied with slowly demolishing his third toy that month.

Joan knocked softly on the closed door, then opened it, taking care to move the door slowly. The paranoid part of them kept telling them that the miniature woman was standing right behind it, so they wanted to give her plenty of time to move just in case that was actually true. They weren’t exactly looking to smack her in the face with a door. That seemed like a bad way to make friends.

“Nunya?” they called, since they still didn’t know the girl’s real name. They stepped into the room. “Nunya” was still in the blanket where they’d left her, the mostly melted bag of peas resting on her chest. She was lying down, her face turned away from them.

“Hey, you awake?” Joan called, their voice softened so as to hopefully not startle her.

The mouse-tailed young woman stirred, turning her head to look at Joan. They felt a little guilty about waking her, but it was too late now. The woman grumbled something as she turned to face them. Joan didn’t catch exactly what it was, but she was clearly unhappy to be woken. Or maybe she just didn’t like that Joan was there. Personally, Joan thought they were a delight, but they supposed she was entitled to her own opinion. She wiped at the side of her mouth as she struggled more upright. Joan decided not to comment on that.

“Hey,” they said, coming closer. “Mind if I take that bag from you? We shouldn’t leave it on too long. I can refreeze it for you, though, and bring it back later.”

The young woman blinked slowly, then started to push the bag off of herself. She stifled a pair of coughs, grimacing.

Joan knelt down next to her and couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank away from them, her body tense. Their face grew hot, but they just reached for the bag of peas.

“See you in a bit,” they said quietly, picking it up. They left the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

…

She was asleep again the next time they returned. They debated waking her up to give her back the bag of peas, but in the end they decided to just set it nearby and leave without waking her. She probably wouldn’t appreciate being repeatedly bothered, Joan figured, remembering her grumpiness from earlier. If she woke up and wanted the ice, it was right there.

…

Twenty minutes after that, when Joan returned for a third time, their guest still appeared to be asleep, but Joan couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of snoring. The bag of peas was also in a slightly different position, so she must have moved it at some point. Her shoulders and jaw also looked a bit too stiff for Joan to believe she was actually asleep. They said nothing, though, simply reaching forward to grab the peas. They left again, shutting the bedroom door behind them with a soft _click_.

Joan didn’t really understand why the tiny woman would pretend to be asleep. Maybe she wanted to know how they acted when she wasn’t awake? Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to them. They didn’t know.

Joan put the baggie of peas in the freezer and went back to get some work done.

It was at this point, while Joan sat on the couch trying to answer emails, that Marco decided to claim Joan’s lap as his throne. So, they were trapped for about forty-five minutes before they could go check on “Nunya” again.

Joan was a strict follower of the simple rule of life that you don’t make a comfortable dog get out of your lap. You just don’t. If you’re chosen, you just have to accept that that’s your life until the dog leaves. Joan knew this. Thankfully for them, they worked from home. It would have been a real problem if they had had an office job to go to. Marco would have made them late a lot.

Finally, Marco got bored of having his ears scratched and hopped out of Joan’s lap to charge at one of his tennis balls, and Joan went to check on the tiny woman. They were a bit nervous, since it had been longer this time than usual since they’d checked on her, but they told themself that she’d be fine. They hadn’t been gone that long, and she was probably just asleep.

They knocked on the door—like before, loudly enough to alert her to their presence, but quietly enough that it wouldn’t wake her up if she were asleep—and pushed it open a couple of seconds later.

“Nunya?” they whispered, making their way over to the blanket. “You up?”

Halfway across the room, they stopped mid-step.

_She wasn’t there_.

Icy panic spread through Joan’s chest. They quickly looked down at the carpet around and behind them, their breath catching in their throat. Where was she? What if she’d passed out on the floor again and they stepped on her by accident?

They didn’t see her anywhere between themself and the door. The tightness eased in their chest, but only slightly. They didn’t know her actual whereabouts, after all. They looked around the room at the bed, the dresser, the nightstand, wondering where she could be. What if she’d run off? Joan doubted she’d make it home by herself, especially in the state she was in. Joan’s aunt lived on the other side of town. That would be unimaginably far for someone so small, wandering around in the dark, who didn’t even know the way.

“Nunya?” they called again, louder this time. “Please tell me you’re still here.”

Heck, they’d take her home themself right now if she was that insistent on leaving tonight. They could only hope someone was there to take care of her. She probably wouldn’t tell them either way.

They reached for the blanket and pinched a bit of the fabric in their fingers, gently lifting it up in case she was hidden somewhere in its folds. No such luck. They let go of the blanket, letting it fall back into place.

“Please?” Joan tried again, straightening. “Nunya, I’m not mad, I promise; I just want to know that you’re okay.”

She didn’t answer. Surprise, surprise. They should have checked on her sooner. Maybe they could have stopped her.

“We had a deal,” Joan said softly, their heart sinking. “Two days, remember? It hasn’t been two days yet.”

They scuffed their sneakers together, looking around for any sign of her. They waited a few long minutes, then looked down with a sigh. She wasn’t coming out, if she was even still there.

“I hope you’re just hiding,” Joan murmured. They turned around and walked out of the room.

…

The door closed.

Five minutes passed in silence. Joan didn’t return.

Then, Remy finally emerged from her hiding place at the foot of the bed.

She stared across the room at the closed door, thinking.


	6. Paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... somebody predicted what was going to happen at the start of this part. You know who you are. This was already planned, I swear! XD 
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone for your patience! I hope this part is worth the wait.

Remy slowly shuffled across the floor once she was sure Joan was gone. She kept her eyes on the door, still wary of the human making a reappearance while she was out in the open. Getting stepped on wasn’t exactly part of her plans, even if at this point it wouldn’t be all that surprising, given how well her life had been going as of late.

Did she really want to stay, she considered, here with the human? Here in their house?

Remy hadn’t been able to find any signs that they were lying to her about anything. Joan had seemed completely genuine so far, explaining their actions in a way that made sense, and hadn’t done anything obviously malicious so far. Yes, they had basically kidnapped her; yes, they had hurt her; and, yes, they had undressed her (gross). But she_ had_ just almost drowned, and all of those things did make sense with their story that they’d tried to help her. Joan had apparently saved her, dried her off and warmed her up, and had given her food and water. It didn’t match up at all with how Remy would have expected an encounter with a human to go; and she wasn’t dumb enough to just go along with that without a second thought; but even as she looked for signs of dishonesty, she couldn’t smell any bullsh*t.

While Joan was away doing whatever humans did, and once she’d felt up to it, Remy had gone exploring. She’d wanted to check out the room where she was supposed to stay for the next day-and-a-half, to make sure there weren’t any nasty surprises waiting for her. There were only so many places she could look, her mobility limited as it was and with less time than she might have preferred; but, still, it was reassuring that she hadn’t found any red flags. No dark secrets in the closet. No traps waiting to snap her up. No secret collection of little-sized torture devices.

She did have to concede that a human would probably not have kept her in a room where she was likely to find any secrets like that. All the same, the fact remained that she was still alive, not drowned in a freaking bucket (what an embarrassing way to die, by the way); she wasn’t in a cage; and it seemed that the human hadn’t told anyone else about her. Those were all good signs.

She still wanted to do some more exploring of this room, later, assuming she stayed long enough. And she wasn’t completely sold on trusting Joan. But she was very tired, and her options were limited, and the blanket by the heating vent was calling her name in a siren song. So she decided to shelve her plans for later, shuffled her way back over to the blanket, and lay down on the soft fabric. She was asleep between one breath and the next.

…

“You’re back.”

The soft, stunned words prompted Remy to crack open one eye. She turned her head slightly and looked up to see the human, who stood just within the doorway to the room, watching her with their mouth agape. They were holding the baggie of peas that they had rudely neglected to leave behind the last time they barged in.

Remy was silent for a long moment.

“Back?” she echoed at last, frowning up at them. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes with one hand.

“You—you weren’t here. Where were you?” Joan took a step forward.

“…Yes I was,” Remy said slowly, a bewildered expression crossing her face. “I’ve been right here this whole time, girl; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joan opened their mouth and shut it again. They looked like they wanted to argue; but mostly, they just looked massively confused. “No,” they said more quietly. “I came in here before, and you weren’t here. I looked in the blanket and everything.”

Remy blinked up at them, feigning ignorance.

Joan sighed through their nose, and shook their shoulders minutely, apparently deciding to drop the topic. Probably because, regardless of whatever her earlier whereabouts might or might not have been, Remy was there now.

“I brought this,” they said, holding up the baggie of frozen peas. “I, um, I realized I didn’t leave it earlier. So I thought I’d bring it, in case you came back… which I guess you did.” They laughed awkwardly. “Or—you didn’t leave. Apparently.” They slowly walked closer, then set the baggie on the ground and nudged it the rest of the way to her side. Remy waited for them to draw back before she reached for it, grumbling when she had to uncurl from her nest to snatch it.

“Anyway. Um. I’m going to bed soon. Do you need anything else tonight?”

Remy pulled the baggie up and let it rest on her chest, sighing softly. “Nah,” she mumbled.

Joan nodded and made as if to leave, then paused. They sighed, rubbing the back of their head. “Look,” they said, avoiding eye contact, “I know you don’t want to be here. And I know you might have some reservations about our deal. But I promise, I _promise_, I will hold up my end. Just, please, don’t go disappearing on me.”

Remy shifted, not looking at them.

“Honestly, if you’re not going to stay the two days, I’d really rather you just told me,” Joan continued. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be upset, but I won’t be mad. The thing is, I know you don’t know how to get home from where we are, and the last thing I want is for you to get lost and probably hurt because of that. So if you're going to ditch me, please tell me, so I can make sure you actually make it home.”

Remy frowned and looked up at them, squinting. “Wait, what?”

“What?” Joan echoed.

“Like… If you’ll take me back right now, why the heck would I stay for the rest of your dumb deal? What’s my motivation? Where’s your, like, leverage or whatever?”

“I mean, I guess your motivation would be, like… not dying? That seems pretty motivating to me. But leverage?” Joan looked up, staring towards a wall for a second or two. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t have any.”

Remy wanted to call them out on what garbage that statement was, to point out that she truly only had any say here until Joan decided to take it away; but Joan had such a genuinely defeated look on their face, like they actually felt that they felt they had no power over what she did. Remy pursed her lips, watching them, but there was nothing disingenuous in their expression or tone of voice. She was inclined to believe them.

They looked back at her. “Will you still be here in the morning?” they asked, their voice soft with uncertainty.

There was a long pause in which Remy glanced around the room, thinking.

“I’ll be here,” she reluctantly promised. She wasn’t a morning person, anyway. Bonus, maybe she could needle some coffee out of Joan, assuming the human had some. They seemed to really want her to like them, and she wasn’t above that sort of manipulation.

Joan looked surprised. “You will?”

“Girl, learn how to take a ‘yes’.”

The corner of Joan’s mouth quirked up. “Okay, cool. See you tomorrow, then.”

Remy hummed, closing her eyes. She heard them getting to their feet and walking to the door. The light flicked off, and then the door closed behind them. She was left in semi-darkness, the only light coming in from under the door.

She could have run. But she just adjusted the bag of frozen peas to cover her sore hip as well as her chest, and she closed her eyes.

This wasn’t so bad, she thought, despite how absolutely garbage her day—no, her entire _week_—had been. She was cozied up in a warm blanket, she’d been given food and water, and she had a big bag of ice numbing her bruises. She had to admit that none of that made her want to take off running and never look back.

Except… there was one huge factor she still had to take into consideration, one fact that marred what otherwise might have been an almost pleasant experience: the dog.

It was true that Remy hadn’t seen him once, and Joan seemed to be genuinely trying to keep them separated, but Remy couldn’t help but worry. Sure, he wouldn’t be a problem, so long as Joan was careful to keep him away from her. And as long as they did, presumably, she’d be safe. But that could change very fast. All it would take was one underestimation of the dog, one lapse of judgement, one single second. She’d be lying if she said that didn’t scare her.

…

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap_.

Remy opened her eyes. She turned her head, watching the sliver of yellowish light coming in at the base of the door.

There was a snuffling noise following the bottom of the door, the shadow moving along with it, then a soft thump.

Remy held her breath. Was the dog loose? Remy had thought that the human was keeping it locked up in their room. Why had they let it out?

Although, now that she thought about it, _had_ the human actually promised to keep the dog in their room? Or just out of the room Remy was in?

“Marco,” a voice called, muffled with distance and the walls separating them. “Get away from there. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap_.

The noise faded away as the dog trotted back down the hall. The light flicked off outside, and she heard a door close. They were gone. Remy slowly released her breath. She knew that the dog couldn’t open the door—the knob was almost certainly out of the animal’s reach—but she couldn’t help how it made her nervous. Animals’ reactions to littles could be hard to predict. Some of them were completely safe to be around, as long as you used common sense. Others, well… you get the idea. Even the friendly ones could be dangerous, if they got careless or overexcited.

Remy wasn’t sure how to feel about the mutt. Marco. She felt uneasy that he had been able to get so close to her, even if they were still separated by the closed door. At least he was gone, now.

Still, if Remy really was going to stay longer—even if only for the morning—she wanted to have a talk with the human. She’d like to at least have some warning if the dog was going to be wandering around right outside her door. Although, she’d definitely prefer if that didn’t happen at all. The unseen threat made her undeniably nervous, despite their separation. And the human wanted to be on her good side, right? So they would listen to her. She hoped.

…

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap_.

Remy bolted upright fast enough to make herself dizzy, the bag of peas sliding off of her chest. She pushed it away, staring at the crack under the door and blinking away spots. It was dark, but she swore she could see something there, shifting, a shadow in the hall.

She watched for a long moment, but she couldn’t hear anything. Had she imagined it? Those claws on the hardwood, drawing closer? The movement beyond the door?

She waited for several long moments, straining her ears; but she heard nothing. Slowly, slowly, she lay back down. She’d imagined the whole thing. At least she hadn’t aggravated her bruises too much, since they were mostly numb from the ice.

_Just go to sleep, dummy,_ she told herself, trying to relax. _There’s no dog. You’re just imagining things because you’re tired._

She closed her eyes, but sleep still didn’t come.

…

An exhale of hot breath, right in her face.

Startled out of her attempt to sleep, Remy let out a tiny shriek and scrambled backwards, her eyes wide. She stared around into the dark, gasping.

The room was empty. The blinds were shut over the window, and the closet and bedroom doors were shut. She was alone. No dog or any other predator in sight

As her heart rate gradually returned to a more normal pace, it dawned on her that the heater had turned off at some point. All she had felt was it coming back on.

_Ugh, now you’re just being paranoid, and it is not a good look on you._

She eased herself back down into the blankets, wincing at the throb of her bruised chest. Perhaps it would have been best to put the bag of frozen peas back over them, even if it was probably mostly thawed by now, but the thought of that weight lying over her seemed stifling at that moment.

She gazed up at the ceiling, just breathing, or trying to; but she was unable to get the image of the dog, the one she knew was just in the neighboring room, out of her head. The huge, hulking form, the drool dripping from its jowls, the large clawed paws that could squash her flat, the hungry eyes. She could picture it all, far too clearly.

She knew she was overreacting. She knew all of this paranoia was just because of how helpless she felt, stuck with a human. It wasn’t as if she had never been near a dog before. But since when did fear listen to reason?

Sleep took a long time to come to her, but eventually, Remy succumbed to her exhaustion.

…

Joan woke up the next morning to a dog in their face. Marco’s hot, smelly breath made them pull away with a grossed-out noise. The dog often wanted to sleep in the same bed as Joan, and Joan always had to lift him up because he was too short to get up himself. So, currently, he was curled up right in front of Joan, still fast asleep, his little paws sticking up in the air.

Joan shook their head fondly and reached for their phone to check the time, then froze, remembering what had happened the day before. They blinked, their gaze flicking to the wall their bedroom shared with the guest room.

Had all of that actually happened? Or had it just been a weird dream?

Probably a dream. It had to be. It couldn’t possibly have been real.

Right?

They had to check.

Careful not to disturb their dog, they pushed back the blankets and got out of bed. Barefoot, they padded out to the hall, shutting the door behind them in case Marco woke up and tried to follow, and went down to the guest room. They hesitated a moment, then silently turned the door knob and pushed the door open with their fingertips.

They could see the blanket from where they stood, lying folded on the floor about six inches away from the air vent at the base of the wall. They couldn’t see anything within the folds of the dark blue fabric at this distance; so they cautiously drew nearer; and there she was: the impossibly small girl who perfectly resembled the borrowers they’d grown up reading about, except for her mouse-like tail. The girl they’d saved from drowning or dying of hypothermia by just happening to be in the right place at the right time. The girl they knew only as “Nunya Business,” an obvious pseudonym. The girl whose existence shouldn’t have been possible.

She was very much real, as it turned out. Of course, this was assuming that Joan wasn’t still asleep, or somehow hallucinating; but as unbelievable as it was, they were sure. The girl was real. At that moment, she appeared to be dead to the world, mouth slightly ajar, snoring quietly. The bag of peas they’d left the night before was lying next to her on the blanket, long since thawed.

Joan reached down and retrieved the little bag, intending to put it back in the freezer. The girl didn’t even stir. Joan stood there for a moment, watching her impossibly tiny form, before they retreated to the hallway and shut the door without waking her.

…

“Okay, shh, good boy,” Joan murmured, opening the door to their first-floor apartment. They winced at the jangle of tags, the tapping of excited paws on the floor. “Shh, shh, stay quiet.”

Marco, the ball of orange and white fluff at their feet, wagged his tail before squeezing through the partially-open door. Joan followed after, then stooped to unclip the leash from the dog’s collar. They set that down on the counter, then scooped up their dog. He put his paws on Joan’s shoulders and pressed his wet nose against their neck. His tail wagged harder as Joan scratched at his back.

Joan smiled. “Okay, Marcaroni, let’s go to my room,” they murmured, already carrying the dog there. They set him down on his dog bed, then moved towards the door, beginning to close it. “Be right back.”

They still had their hand on the doorknob as they looked down the hall, towards the other bedroom.

About an hour had passed since they’d gone to check on her that morning. They debated poking their head in again, just for a second, but eventually turned away and headed towards the kitchen. They’d go back to look in on her when breakfast was ready.

…

Remy jolted awake, and immediately groaned at the throb of pain this caused.

It took her a moment to remember where she was and why she was there. When she did, she wasn’t exactly happy. Who could blame her, really? This _sucked_.

At least she didn’t seem to have been eaten by a dog overnight, so that was nice.

She was still in Joan’s guest room, lying on top of a blanket, alone. Her chest felt like it had been hit with a battering ram, and she had a killer headache. And she was still stuck here with a human and their dog. So, in short, everything was _great_. So, _so_ great.

Remy pushed herself to sit more upright and look around. Light filtered in through the gaps in the blinds over the window, and she could hear movement elsewhere in the building. The baggie of peas was missing, she couldn’t help but notice. So Joan had been here at some point.

She groaned again and let herself fall back against the blanket.

She didn’t have long to dwell on her sucky situation before she heard the door quietly opening, and she quickly scrambled to sit up, stiffening.

Joan stood there, of course. They gave her an awkward, lopsided smile when they saw her.

“Hey, you’re awake,” they commented.

Remy didn’t dignify that obvious comment with a response.

They stepped closer, and Remy saw that they held a small plate and the bag of peas. They left the door open behind them, and she couldn’t help how her gaze flicked between them and the hall, wary of the dog running in.

“I brought you some food,” they offered. “And more ice, if you want it?”

Remy stayed put as they came closer and put the plate and ice at her side. The plate held some crackers, peanuts, and strawberries. Once Joan moved away, she picked up one of the strawberries on the plate and took a few bites, staring at the human contemplatively.

“Where’s the dog?” she asked, swallowing. She set the strawberry back on the plate.

“Hm? Oh, Marco’s still in my room,” Joan said. “He’ll be fine in there.”

“He wasn’t in there last night,” Remy pointed out, folding her arms despite how her chest complained. “That mutt kept me up half the night.”

“What? Yes he—oh. Yeah, I let him out for about five minutes, just for some water. But it was only like five minutes. He spent the night with me.”

Remy frowned. “He tried to get in here!”

Joan paused, then winced. “I’m sorry, he got past me when I was cleaning out his bowl. I’m sorry if he scared you. He must’ve smelled you and got curious. He wouldn’t hurt you or anything.”

“Oh, if you say so, it must be true,” Remy said in a bitter voice. She wiped her hands off on her pants, then started combing her tangled hair with her fingers, working out the hair tie as she did. “I’m sure I’ll have an amazing time staying here with him breathing curiously down my neck and trying to curiously eat me. But it’ll be fine, he’s just _curious_.”

Joan looked dismayed. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Really. I should have realized.”

Remy looked up at them, then pointedly away, still combing through her hair. She hit a particularly stubborn knot and yanked her fingers through it about as passive-aggressively as a five-inch tall girl who’d almost died the day before was capable of.

The human shifted on their feet. “Can I… I don’t know, like, make it up to you somehow? It’s not like I can get rid of him—he’s my _dog_—and I can’t really keep him cooped up all the time, but I really want you to be comfortable here.”

“A little warning would be nice, to start,” Remy snipped. “If he’s going to be up in my business, I’d like to know. I don’t want to wake up in his mouth.”

Joan looked like they wanted to argue about the probability of that, but in the end they simply nodded. “Yeah, of course. I’ll tell you if he’s coming out of my room. But what if you’re asleep or something?”

“What did I just say? You do it anyway!” Remy wasn’t in the mood to coddle a human, of all things. Her headache and ribs were not playing nice, and she was still exhausted. Not. In. The. Mood.

The human sighed and pressed a hand briefly against their face. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

Remy coughed, winced, and rubbed at her eyes.

“How are you doing today?” Joan ventured after a pause. Judging by the tone of their voice, they’d guessed she wasn’t feeling well.

“You know how you can make it up to me?” Remy said. “Get me some coffee. The good kind.” She didn’t know what humans considered the good kind, but she knew that not all coffee was brewed equal.

“Coffee?” Joan repeated, clearly surprised. “You want coffee?”

“Yes, girl, coffee. The good kind.”

“Oh. Um, sure, I think I have some in the cabinet. Do you… um, do you want, like, sugar in it? Or milk? I only have almond milk, though, if that’s okay.”

Remy hesitated, honestly a bit thrown by the question. She didn’t usually have options for how she had her coffee.

“…How about I just bring everything, and you can see what you like?”

Remy glanced them up and down before nodding.

With that, Joan left to fetch the apology coffee; and Remy went back to picking at her strawberry.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My puppy was kind enough to let me write today! Sorry about the wait, and thank you all for your patience. :)

Joan opened up the cabinet beside the microwave, their eyes scanning its contents, searching for the small red and black coffee tin that should have been inside. They frowned, moving aside a few spice canisters. The tin wasn’t there, as far as they could tell. Where was it?

They stepped back, eyebrows drawing together, and opened the neighboring cabinet door. Perhaps they had misremembered where they had last put the coffee? They didn’t drink it much, so that was a reasonable possibility. They hoped they weren’t out. It had been Nunya’s one request, the one thing she claimed might make her forgive them for their blunder with the dog.

That had been pretty dumb of them, Joan thought, taking their eyes off of Marco long enough for him to get to Nunya’s door. They should have realized that she would be nervous about a dog sniffing around, even if he couldn’t get into the room.

They sighed, moving on to the next cabinet.

…

With Joan gone, Remy turned back to her plate of food. She picked up the strawberry and took a bite, closing her eyes with a soft, pleased hum at the sweet, juicy taste. She very much liked the strawberries—she didn’t exactly get them often, surprise surprise, given that most humans she’d encountered didn’t just leave fresh fruit lying around for littles to find. Not that she was going to show Joan just how glad she was to have them, but she would take the fruit.

Perks of almost dying and being caught by a human, she supposed.

She paused to wipe the juice off of her chin, glanced over at the rest of the strawberries on the plate, and decided she didn’t have to try to make this one last. She finished off that strawberry, leaves and all (it was small, stop judging her) and reached for another. She dragged it towards her, wincing at the strain on her chest, and took a bite. She slowed down a bit at this point, not wanting to get full _too_ fast. She wanted to savor it, and actually taste her food. Who knew when the next time she’d get strawberries could be?

Remy was about a quarter of the way finished with the berry when the bedroom door opened, causing her to jump. She turned around to see Joan poking their head in the door with a guilty expression. She squinted, wondering what this was about.

“Um… hey. I’m sorry, but turns out I don’t have any coffee after all. I must have run out and forgot. I can get some, though, if you want? It shouldn’t take long.”

Remy looked at them for a moment, searching, then slowly nodded. Late coffee was better than no coffee, obviously, assuming that that was really what Joan was going to do.

“Maybe you can take a nap while I’m gone? Marco’ll be in my room the whole time.”

Remy’s expression soured at the mention of the dog. Joan seemed to be waiting for an answer, though, so she just said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Joan nodded, glancing away, then retreated. The door closed with a soft _click_.

Once she was sure they were gone, Remy went back to her food, still ignoring the peanuts and crackers that Joan had brought her along with the strawberries. She had those all the time, at least comparatively. While she was accustomed to often having trouble finding _any_ kind of food, if she had options, she was going with the fruit, thanks.

She finished about half of the second strawberry, then got to her feet, having no plans to take a nap like the human had suggested. Sure, she was still tired, her chest throbbed, her headache had only slightly let up, and her nose was starting to feel stuffy; but now would be a good time to go exploring again, with less chance of the human interrupting. There might be something she had missed the night before.

She made herself a mental map of the room, taking note of any potential escape routes: outlet covers, the vent cover that she might be able to squeeze through, the door, maybe the window; as well as hiding spots: the nightstand, the bed, the closet, and the space behind the door when it was open. She wished it wasn’t such a plain room. More hiding spots would be nice.

Still no red flags that she could find. In this room, anyway. At one point, she heard the tapping of claws in the neighboring room as the dog walked around. That was a pretty big red flag, especially since she had no guarantees that it really couldn’t get to her. But mostly, she focused on exploring this room.

Just when she was starting to consider calling it quits, so that she’d be back in the blanket when Joan returned, she found it.

A seam, so perfectly fitted that she nearly missed it, in the wall under the bed. Remy brushed her fingers along it, frowning, discovering that it made a door-like shape. A distinctly _her_-sized door-like shape.

She hesitated, then shook her head. Why should she be nervous? What did she expect to find inside, a booby trap like some Indiana Jones movie? Ridiculous. The worst thing she was likely to find was, like, a giant rat. Or maybe a skeleton.

Remy’s mouth thinned.

But probably nothing. Nothing was the most likely answer.

With that thought, she hooked her fingertips in the seam and _pulled_. It took her some effort, probably because it was stuck and definitely not because she was so weak; but then it gave, and the door swung open. It was cleverly only partially cut on one side so as to allow the movement but not let the door fall open entirely. She’d luckily pulled on the correct side. It would have been embarrassing, to be standing there tugging on the wrong side of the door for who knew how long.

Remy glanced behind her, towards the room at large, as if to make sure Joan hadn’t returned, then turned back to her find.

“Hello?” she awkwardly whisper-called, feeling very stupid but also apprehensive. “Is, uh, is there anybody in there?”

She didn’t get an answer, unsurprisingly—even if there really _were_ other littles in the house, they could be practically anywhere, and she was unwilling to raise her voice. She poked her head in the wall, hoping for some clues.

The tunnel within clearly hadn’t been used in some time, she realized with a sinking heart, probably at least a year if not more. There was dust on the floor, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she even saw a couple of dead insects lying on the ground about a foot down the tunnel.

Remy swallowed and stepped back.

So… no littles, then. At least, no littles recently. Perhaps they had moved out because of the dog. That would certainly make sense.

Of course, it would also make sense that they had been _eaten_ by the dog, or killed by Joan or some other human, or had had some other horrible thing befall them; but Remy was trying to think positively, here.

She stepped back, taking a breath, and shut the door. It blended nearly seamlessly with the wall once more.

Did she want to stay, after finding this? What if something had happened to those littles, and it had had to do with Joan? What if this was her one warning to get out while she could?

She put one arm around herself and rubbed her sore head with the other hand. She swore, conflicted.

If she stayed, she would be taking the risk that this really was a clue to some horrible thing that Joan was hiding. But if she left, she would definitely be putting her life at risk, when there might well be a perfectly reasonable and non-nefarious explanation for there to be abandoned tunnels in the walls.

She debated for a long moment, and eventually, she decided to continue to stay, for now. Leaving posed a big risk, especially since she wouldn’t even be able to get back to her supplies and still had nowhere to call home, not to mention her… current situation.

She made her way back to the blanket, glancing several times towards the hidden door along the way. She sat down there, hugged the baggie of peas to her chest, and waited.

Nearly two hours had passed in total, judging by the movement of the shadows in the room, by the time Joan returned. Remy was starting to get antsy. She was promised _coffee_, and she was not known for being patient. Granted, she was barely known at all, but no one who did know her would call her patient.

She turned as soon as she heard the knock on the door, opening her mouth to ask where _exactly_ they had been for so long; but when they actually came in, she broke off, her mouth beginning to water.

She recognized the rich aroma as soon as the door opened, tickling her nose tantalizingly from across the room. She sat up, unable to help the thrum of anticipation within her.

Joan poked their head in, smiling and carrying a tray laden with goodies that Remy’s eyes immediately zeroed in on. “I’m back!” they greeted, “and I’ve got something for you.”

Remy pushed off the baggie of frozen peas—well, they weren’t quite frozen anymore—as Joan approached. The human stopped about a foot away and went to set down the array, then paused. They picked up the shot glass filled with dark brown liquid and took a sip from it, probably to demonstrate that it was safe. Remy just watched, shifting where she sat like a kid trying to contain her excitement.

Joan lowered themself to the floor and set down the tray in front of her, then scooted back a couple of feet to give her space. The tray they left behind was laden with a couple of sugar cubes, two shot glasses, several little bowls made of tin foil, plus some extra unshaped foil, and even what looked like a small cookie. The dark brown liquid in the first shot glass was obviously the coffee, while the other must have been the milk. Almond milk, she remembered Joan mentioning it was. She didn’t know what exactly that was—almonds were a nut, weren’t they?—but she didn’t ask. She had her coffee, finally. That was all she cared about.

A bit of steam curled lazily from the first shot glass. _Hot _coffee? She knew coffee was usually supposed to be served hot, or at least, not room temperature; but she’d never actually_ had_ hot coffee before. She glanced up at Joan, then slowly approached. She paused, then poked one finger into the coffee to test the temperature. It didn’t seem too hot, so she took a tiny sip. It was bitter, but in a familiar, pleasant way; and it warmed her insides. She could tell it was freshly made, too, which was not exactly usual for her caffeinated treats.

“You like it?” Joan asked, seeming hesitant.

“Hmm,” Remy hummed, too pleased to bother with a sarcastic comment. She looked at the rest of the tray’s contents, then picked up one of the clumsily folded aluminum foil cups and used it to scoop out some more of the coffee, filling it about three quarters of the way. After a pause, she filled the rest up with almond milk. She took a sip, belatedly realizing that she hadn’t seen Joan try the milk. But it seemed okay.

Coffee and milk. Not bad, actually.

She finished her first cup and went to refill it. She had already decided that hot coffee was vastly superior to the room temperature kind. This must have been what “good coffee” meant. She felt briefly gratified that she had insisted upon the good kind.

Meanwhile, Joan was watching, but totally pretending not to be.

She glanced over at them as she measured out the coffee, milk, and sugar ratio she wanted to try next. “What took you so long, anyway, girl?” Don’t get her wrong—she sure as heck wasn’t complaining about the extra investigation time, since it would have been rather… ah, _awkward_ to explain what she was doing if they’d walked in in the middle of it; but she had thought that humans were faster than that at getting around. Her tone was slightly accusatory, suspicious about what they could have been up to, but it was mellowed slightly by her satisfaction at finally getting her caffeinated nectar of the gods. A bit of her nerves might have shown in her voice, which sucked; but Joan, thankfully, either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Oh—sorry, I had to stop upstairs for a minute. One of my tenants emailed about a leaky faucet. I had to take care of it. And then I had some trouble figuring out how to make some cups for you….”

“…Tenants?” Remy echoed, not recognizing the word.

“Yeah. I own the building we’re in. I rent most of it to other people, they pay me for the space, and I take care of the building.”

Remy blinked. So, this wasn’t just a house, after all—it was an apartment building. Now that she paid attention, she thought she could hear something above them, maybe someone walking around, and a television or something playing. She hadn’t noticed before. Something that she felt was more than justified in her case.

More importantly, though…. “Are you going to try to make me “pay” too?” she asked suspiciously. “For, like, taking up space here, or whatever?” Maybe _that_ explained the empty tunnels…. The littles hadn’t been able to pay whatever Joan’s price was. And now the human was trying to trick her into taking their place.

“What? No—no, that’s a different thing. You don’t owe me anything. I promise.” They frowned, seeming upset.

“Hm.” Remy would hold them to that promise.

Joan stayed silent until Remy went back for her third cup.

“You know,” they ventured quietly, making her pause, “I really do think you’d like Marco if you met him.”

Remy sent them a sideways glance, scooping the coffee into her cup. _Yeah, I’m sure I’d have a_ great _time getting eaten by that mutt._

“He’s really sweet,” they continued. “Not threatening at all.”

Remy crumbled a few grains of sugar off of one of the cubes and sprinkled them in. Once they dissolved, she took a small sip, glancing once in Joan’s direction, skeptical of their claims. She took another sip of coffee and firmly directed her small, satisfied look at the cup. If only Joan wasn’t here, annoying her.

“Maybe if you gave him a chance, you’d see you don’t have to be scared.”

Remy still pretended not to hear them, focused on her coffee.

Joan sighed.

Remy tapped her fingers on the sides of the cup. “How long have you had that thing, anyway?”

“What?”

“The dog.”

“Oh. About two years now.”

She took a contemplative sip of her drink. That timeline did check out with how long the tunnel appeared to have been empty. So, the dog probably _had_ had something to do with it. Which wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it was nice to have her suspicions confirmed.

“And he’s never, like, caught anything, right?”

Joan had perked up, apparently thinking she was considering their offer. “No, never. I was actually kind of afraid he might be vision impaired or something when I first got him, he was so chill around birds and stuff. Turns out he’s just like that, though.”

“And what about… uh, mice? Or, like, rats, I guess.”

Joan’s eyes shifted to her tail, which twitched self-consciously. “No, nothing like that.”

“Have you ever even had mice around him? How would you know if you’ve never had mice?”

Joan looked sheepish. “Well… we used to have mice, I think. I put out some traps, but I never caught any. I think they’re gone, now, though. I haven’t seen any sign of them in a few years.”

Remy mulled that answer over for a moment, and the tone in which it was said. They hadn’t avoided the question, and it sure didn’t seem like they were hiding anything in it. She didn’t exactly like that they’d put out mouse traps to try to catch littles, but it seemed that they didn’t know that they weren’t actually mice. The answer still didn’t tell her what she needed to know, however, and it was always possible she was missing something. Focusing was not her strong suit at the moment, and she’d only known this person for a day—not to mention that she hadn’t ever even spoken to a human before now, and hadn’t planned to. She was no psychic, or expert on how to read humans. She was just doing her best.

The pause was lengthening, so Joan spoke up. “He really is very sweet. He’s harmless.” They seemed to know they were pushing it, but they still asked, “Would it really so bad, to just see him, so you could see for yourself?”

Remy took a long sip of coffee. She didn’t want Joan getting ahead of themself just because she was asking questions. “Nah, girl. Pass.”

…

Joan wilted a bit at her flat, negative response, but they tried not to be too disappointed. They tried to put themself in her shoes (or boots, technically). They tried to picture what it would be like to face a dog like Marco at her size. They supposed they might be a bit intimidated by a corgi the size of a house, even if he was a sweetheart. Especially if they hadn’t known that he was a sweetheart. Corgi or not. Maybe it was a bit cruel of them, trying to push her into this, despite how much they felt that it would put her at ease to know what kind of dog was “lurking” outside.

They dropped the topic for the time being, watching her enjoy her coffee. As she went back for a fourth and then fifth cup, Joan started to wonder where she was putting it all. Did she have a coffee-loving black hole for a stomach? Perhaps it was good that they’d gotten her decaf coffee. They’d debated for a while at the store, wondering if caffeine was the best idea for someone in her condition. They’d also grabbed some regular coffee, too, just in case; but they’d made her decaf for now. If she somehow ended up staying longer and wanted regular coffee, they had it.

“So...” Nunya said, breaking Joan out of their thoughts, “what happens when your absolutely flawless plan fails?”

Oh. She just wanted to criticize them some more.

“It’s not like he’ll be near you. I’ll have him on a short leash.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” they said. “I told you. I won’t let him near you if you don’t want him to be. Definitely not until you’re comfortable with it. And if that never happens, it never does.”

“Uh-huh. Gurl, you said you want me to _meet_ him. How do you meet someone and not get close to them?”

“Just _see_ him, really. You don’t even know what he looks like. Would it really hurt just to _see_ him?” From the sound of it, Nunya had had a very difficult time sleeping the night before, imagining their enormous, vicious, bloodthirsty dog coming after her. Seeing the fluffy, adorably harmless reality might reassure her and make her stay that much easier. She wasn’t going to get better if she didn’t feel safe enough to rest.

…

Remy frowned down at her cup. Part of the reason she was drinking so much was so that the caffeine would perk her up and make it easier to think clearly, but it didn’t seem to be working. Her headache and head fog were still overpowering. She stifled a cough, sniffling, and put the cup down.

Joan was still waiting for her answer. Well, she’d already answered, like, a bunch of times, even if most of them hadn’t technically been verbal; and it shouldn’t have taken a genius to get the hint. But that wasn’t good enough for them, apparently.

She should have just reiterated a flat “_hell f*cking no_” and clammed up on the topic, but she paused.

She thought of the empty tunnels again.

A part of her felt curious—okay, maybe obligated was a better word—to find out what had happened to their builders. But was it even worth the risk, when, if Joan was to be trusted, she was leaving the next afternoon?

“Maybe you can think on it?” Joan asked.

Remy closed her eyes, resigned. “Fine,” she huffed.

“Fine… you’ll think about it?”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But you, ma’am, had better make _damn f*cking sure_ that that mutt of yours can’t reach me.”

Joan’s shoulders loosened, and they sent her a relieved if uncertain smile. “Well, I do have an idea… but I’m not sure how much you’ll like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this update, and more importantly, I hope you're all staying safe! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s some quarantine reading for you all! I hope you are all staying safe, healthy, and relatively sane in this very weird time. Enjoy the chapter!

“So, should we go do this once you’re done with your coffee?” Joan asked, probably wanting to do the whole let’s-meet-the-totally-not-murderous-dog thing before Remy changed her mind.

“After my coffee… and my nap.”

“Your nap? Didn’t you take one earlier?” Joan asked.

Remy frowned up at them. “What, are you policing my naps now?” Her headache was not improving her already short temper. “I did almost _die_, you know. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little tired.” And while the coffee should have been helping with that, it didn’t seem to be, which was frustrating as hell.

“No, no—sorry. ‘Course you can take a nap. You don’t need my permission. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.”

“Hm.” Remy settled back down, grabbing her coffee cup. “If you say so, babes.” She put the aluminum foil cup to her lips and hummed in satisfaction, her eyes closing.

“I’m glad you like the coffee,” Joan offered. “I did also get the caffeinated kind, if that’s something you like. Maybe you can have that tomorrow morning?”

Remy opened her eyes with a startled noise and stared up at them. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I—”

Remy cut them off. “What do you mean, you_ also got the caffeinated kind?”_

Joan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. They didn’t seem to know what to say.

“What, you think I just drink this stuff for the taste?” she snapped. That was part of it; obviously, she sure as hell wasn’t going to drink something that tasted _bad_; but she wanted her _caffeine_. “I asked for the _good_ kind of coffee, not the _fake_ kind!”

“I’m sorry,” Joan said. “I’ll… um, I’ll get you new coffee. The caffeinated kind.” They reached forward as if to take the tray.

“Get out,” Remy snapped. “Let me take my nap.”

Joan hesitated, then started to get up, the guilt palpable in their expression and the way they moved. They paused. “So… are you still going to see Marco, or…?”

“I don’t know_, maybe!”_ She glared at them. “Now get out! And don’t come back unless it’s with my _caffeinated _coffee.”

Joan wiped a hand across their face. “Okay… is an hour long enough?”

“Two hours,” she said, already bundling herself back in the blanket.

“Two hours,” they agreed. She heard them pick up the tray, then walk to the door and open it. “Sorry,” they repeated once more, before shutting it behind them.

…

Remy opened bleary eyes to the sound of knocking.

“Five minutes,” she mumbled, closing them again and snuggling further into the blanket. She was warm, cozy, and pleasantly sleepy. Her responsibilities could wait.

The knocking came again. “Nunya?” a muffled voice called.

Remy shifted, remembering where she was. She pushed her face into the blanket with a groan.

The door opened.

“Coffee?” Remy asked, lifting her head and watching them grumpily.

“Yep, I’ve got it,” Joan said, holding out the tray in their hands. “And I got you more ice. Mind if I leave this stuff here, and go get Marco? I want to take him outside real quick.”

“That depends. Is it _caffeinated _coffee this time?”

“Yep, it’s caffeinated, as promised.”

“And am I going to be interrupted by your mutt?” Coffee and dogs did not go well together, which Remy felt should go without saying.

“No,” they sighed. “I’ll put his leash on in my room, take him out, and keep it on until he’s back in my room. No chance he’ll come in here.”

“Good,” she muttered, starting to push herself up. “Now bring it over, girl, I don’t have all day.”

Joan carried over the tray, which held the same sugar cubes, shot glass of milk, single small cookie, and aluminum foil cups as before. The second shot glass, the coffee, had been refilled. It looked the same, but if Joan were to be believed, should now hold proper, caffeine-infused coffee. They set it down before her and put the baggie of frozen peas next to it.

Remy started to get up, noticing that her headache was much better than earlier.

“Need anything else?” they asked.

“A new rib cage would be nice,” she commented, although her words weren’t as biting as they might have been. She waited until they drew back, then moved towards the coffee. She pressed a hand to the shot glass. Still warm, but she supposed they could have just reheated the same stuff.

She looked up at Joan. “If this is more of the same un-caffeinated sh*t, we’re going to have words,” she warned.

“It’s caffeinated,” they assured again, looking weary, before gaining a slightly mischievous glint in their eyes. “I’m sure you’ll see, with how much of it you drink. I swear, you’re a bottomless pit.”

“Fair,” she granted, almost smirking at the sass they shot back at her. She scooped up a cup of the coffee and drank, nearly burning her mouth. Delicious.

“Alright, I’m gonna go get the boy. See you in a bit.” They looked her over for a second, as if making sure she had everything she needed, before they left.

…

“So what’s this brilliant plan of yours?” Remy asked, in between munches of her cookie. “The one you said I wouldn’t like?”

Joan, standing just inside the room and still wearing the jacket they’d put on to take Marco outside, shrugged. “Well, I was thinking that the kitchen would probably be the best place to do this. The _best_ way would be if Marco had a crate… but I got rid of it about six months ago.” They shook their head, as if they should have somehow foreseen this situation. “But since he doesn’t, I was thinking that you could sit on the counter; and he’ll be down on the floor, away from you. The, uh, blanket sled thing seemed to work pretty well yesterday, so I thought we could get you there that way.”

Remy could see the glaring problem. “And… how exactly am I getting on the counter?”

“Yeah… that’s the iffy part. I’d have to pick you up and put you up there.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“Um.”

“Right,” she sighed. “I thought we agreed—no carrying.”

“We did,” they admitted.

“So?”

“Well—” They shoved their hands in their pockets. “I thought maybe you could make an exception. Just one. Or, I guess, two, technically.”

Remy gave them an unimpressed look before taking another bite of her cookie.

“I’ll get you more coffee?” they offered. “Let you drink some on the counter?”

“You already got me my coffee.” She still had some, in fact. And unless Joan was going to threaten to take that away, they couldn’t use that as a bribe or leverage.

“Um… is there, I don’t know, something else you’d do it for?”

“I don’t know. Impress me.” She couldn’t fold her arms with the baggie of peas resting on her chest, so she just gave them an expectant look.

Joan thought for a long moment, then seemed to get an idea. “You like the taste of coffee, right? Not just the caffeine?”

“…Yeah? Why?”

“Have you ever tried coffee ice cream?”

…

“How do I know this coffee ice cream of yours is really even a thing?” Remy asked, not for the first time, standing off to the side while Joan shook out the blanket to use as a sled. She glanced at the open door behind them a couple of times, despite knowing that the dog was still locked in Joan’s bedroom.

“Have I lied to you yet?”

“How about that fake no-caffeine coffee?”

“Okay, fair. But I did bring you coffee. Twice. I didn’t lie then, why lie now?”

Remy grumbled something under her breath.

“Alright, I think you’re good to get on.”

Remy took a deep breath, then walked forwards, towards the blanket. At the edge, she stopped, and looked up at Joan. “I’d better not regret this,” she warned.

Joan nodded, and she sat down, clutching the coarse fabric in her fists.

“Ready?”

She looked up at Joan, who held the other end of the makeshift sled aloft, and nodded apprehensively.

“Cool. I’ll go slow. Just tell me if you want me to change the pace or anything.”

She let out a small, shuddering breath, trying not to think too hard about what they were doing. “Okay.”

Joan started walking, and the blanket tugged taught before beginning to drag Remy behind the human. It was a somewhat jerky ride at first, the blanket bumping over the carpet, until they reached the hall. Then it was much smoother, other than the occasional ridge where one floorboard ended and the next began.

Unlike last time, when she hadn’t felt well enough to do much except hold on to the blanket, Remy looked around at the hallway they were in. It was painted a soft, warm beige, picture frames and art covering the wall across from the bedroom doors. As with any human structure, it was quite large, but it must have seemed more homey to Joan.

Joan went very slowly over the threshold into the kitchen, since there was a larger bump there.

“Anywhere specific you’d like to be on the counter?” Joan asked. “I’ll bring you as close as I can on this.”

“Um…” Remy spotted a part of it with a container full of spoons, a bread box, and a toaster. It seemed to have the best prospects as far as hiding spots went, in case something went wrong. “There,” she answered, pointing as best as she could without hurting her chest.

“Right there?” Joan pointed at the same spot.

“No, on top of the fridge.”

Joan chuckled. “Just checking.”

Remy made a thoughtful noise, ignoring the thrum of anxiety growing within her. “You know, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. It’s up high. Plus I’ll be even taller than your freaky giant-ness”

“He’s a dog, not a giraffe,” Joan joked. “And I’m actually pretty short, believe it or not.”

She frowned. “What’s a giraffe?”

“Never mind.”

Remy dropped it, but put the question aside for later, just in case it turned out to be important.

“So, can I bring you over now, or…?”

“Mmmm-hm,” she responded, tightening her grip on the fabric

Joan started walking again, bringing her right up to the wall of cabinets before stopping. The hum of the fridge was easily audible beside them.

Remy took a moment to steel her nerves. Joan didn’t object.

“Don’t touch me,” she requested. “I know you’re going to, like…” she swallowed, “…but don’t touch me. Please.”

“Can I pick you up in the blanket?”

Remy swallowed, then nodded, tensing. Joan knelt down and started slowly gathering up the blanket. Remy let out an involuntary squeak of fear as she felt herself move, and they froze.

“Did I hurt you?”

Remy’s voice was rather shaky as she responded, “Oh, girl, you’ll _know_ if you hurt me.”

“Do you want to stop? We can figure out another way.”

_You’re going to get coffee ice cream,_ she told herself_. It’ll be worth it for the coffee ice cream. And who knows? Maybe Joan’s actually right. Maybe it really will be easier to relax once you actually see the dog. _

(Not likely, she thought. She was mostly doing it for the coffee ice cream, obviously. And to see if she could figure out for sure what had driven those other littles out of here. But mostly the ice cream.)

They hesitated for another second before continuing what they were doing. Remy’s heart pounded as she was carefully scooped up and lifted in the air, but she managed not to make another sound. The few seconds that passed before she was set down on the counter felt far, far too long.

She waited for Joan to draw back, catching her breath. She silently registered that she was in fact unharmed, or at least no more harmed than before. Then she got up, stepped away from the blanket, and sat down on the counter top, looking around the kitchen as she did. She made a point of fixing her outfit, so she looked and felt more put-together.

“I’ll go get him, then?” Joan said, clearly wanting to know if that was okay with her.

Honestly, she wanted to wait, or to just call it off altogether. But prolonging this might only make it worse.

“Just get it over with,” she forced out.

Joan nodded, and walked back down to the hall. Just before they disappeared from sight, they said, “If it’s too much, let me know, and I’ll get him out of here.”

“Yeah… sure.”

Joan returned a few minutes later, preceded by the sound of jangling collar tags and tapping claws. Remy’s fingernails dug into her legs.

The dog came around the corner, and Remy’s eyes were immediately glued to it. It was… not what she had expected. It was a lot smaller than she’d feared, much more fluffy, and kind of silly looking. But it was still a dog, and it was still _much_ larger than she was. She was very glad to be on the counter, and not on the floor.

Joan had the dog—Marco, she remembered—on a short leash, all but about a foot of its length wrapped around their wrist and hand. The dog was hopping as much as the leash allowed, excited, looking up at his master. His pink tongue lolled, his brown eyes bright and his ears pricked. Remy was mostly focused on the teeth.

“Heel, Marco,” Joan said in a stern voice. The dog immediately calmed down, or tried to. Mostly. “Good boy.”

They stopped at the other end of the room. Remy had scooted back at some point, her back against the bread box.

“Sit,” said Joan. Marco tapped his paws on the floor, looking up at them, then did as they commanded. “Good.”

Remy swallowed. The dog looked away from Joan, and then finally spotted her. Both of them froze. Marco’s tail started twitching, but he didn’t get up.

“This okay?” Joan checked.

Remy’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t look away from the dog. Sure, it was a short, goofy-looking thing, but a lifetime of ingrained instinct was hard to ignore.

…

At the tiny young woman’s silence—not even a sarcastic retort—Joan bit their lip. They took a step back. This might not have been their best idea, after all.

At the movement, Marco glanced quickly up at them, then back at the girl on the counter. He let out a small, excited whine, his tail sweeping the floor.

The girl’s face paled. A moment passed.

Marco seemed to realize that his new best friend was afraid of him. He stilled, his ears going down slightly. He paused, then lay down, putting his head between his paws. His tail swept shyly across the floor, and his big brown eyes occasionally flicked up towards her before looking away.

Joan could just imagine him saying, _“Look, see? I’m not scary! I’m a friend!”_

Joan looked back to Nunya, wondering if they should get Marco out of there, or if it would just make things worse if the dog moved. For now, they just shortened the leash a little more, and waited, hoping for the best.

Slowly, slowly, she seemed to relax, at least a bit. She inched forward, away from the bread box, looking down at the dog.

Joan was tempted to say something, to encourage her; but they held their tongue. Marco was waiting hopefully, his tail the only part of him moving.

She stopped a few inches from the edge of the counter.

Marco sniffed in her direction, ever-hopeful to make a friend.

“Um… hi,” she said awkwardly.

The dog seemed to sense the change in atmosphere, and he got to his feet. The girl on the counter flinched slightly, but she clearly intended to pretend it hadn’t happened, and Joan didn’t mention it.

“Are you okay?” Joan asked.

“No, not really,” she said. “But, hey, he hasn’t eaten me yet, so there’s that.”

“I’m sorry. This was… maybe not my best idea.”

She laughed dryly. “That coffee ice cream had better be _good_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are very much appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

“So,” Remy said, tearing her eyes away from the dog below her for the first time, “where’s my ice cream?”

Joan laughed airily, seeming very relieved that things hadn’t gone too far south in this plan of theirs. “Yeah, you’ll get it, don’t worry.”

“Now,” she insisted. “I’m already in the kitchen. Humans keep food in their kitchens. What’s more convenient than that?” She really wanted to get her bribe as soon as possible, before Joan “forgot” that they had promised it to her in exchange for meeting their dog. Not that she _really_ still thought that they would do that, not on purpose; but she was still feeling a bit snippy about the whole non-caffeinated coffee incident.

“Oh,” Joan said, adjusting their grip on the dog leash. “Yeah, um, I gotcha; but the thing is—”

Remy’s mouth fell open. “JOAN,” she cried, ignoring Marco, who was still wagging his tail hopefully between them. “Tell me you did not lie to me _again_.” She leaned forward sharply, accentuating her words.

Joan held up a finger, their eyes widening. “No, no, I did not. I didn’t lie. You’ll get your ice cream, I promise. I just don’t have it _right now_. I’ll go buy some as soon as Marco’s back in my room.”

Remy huffed, folding her arms. “How is it my fault you aren’t better prepared?”

Marco whined, drawing her attention, but he was just sitting down, looking between his two best friends and hoping for someone to pet him instead of arguing. Joan reached down and scratched between his ears.

“Okay, maybe I could have gotten the ice cream first, but it was kind of a spur of the moment idea.” They shrugged. “Anyway, arguing about it doesn’t change that I don’t have it.”

They had a point. “Fine,” Remy said. “I’ll be waiting right here.” She sat up straight, arms still folded, daring them to tell her otherwise.

Joan blinked, their hand pausing on Marco’s head. “You don’t want to go back to the guest room? What happened to “no tables”? I thought you’d want down right away.”

“Mind your own business,” Remy retorted. “Now go get my ice cream. And don’t forget the coffee flavor!”

Joan rolled their eyes, but they seemed more amused than annoyed. “Of course, your Highness. Come on, Marco.” They led the reluctant dog, who was clearly unhappy about not meeting Remy properly, back down the hall and towards their bedroom.

They came back a few minutes later, alone, wearing a jacket and holding a set of keys. “See you in like fifteen minutes,” they said, saluting as they passed her.

Remy watched as the door shut and locked. Once she was sure they were gone, she pushed herself to her feet and walked further away from the edge of the counter, towards the wall. She slipped into the space between the container of cooking utensils and the bread box, wanting a more secluded spot, just for paranoia’s sake. She knew the odds of anyone else coming in that door were slim, but she didn’t want to be out in the open the whole time Joan was gone. That was just asking for trouble. So, instead, she sat down against the wall to wait.

…

“Nunya?”

Remy blinked, lifting her head. Apparently, she had managed to fall asleep in her hiding place. Oops.

“Nunya, whatever your name is, please come out; I don’t want to step on you.”

Remy yawned. “Are you walking on the counter, now?” she asked. She rubbed at an eye, then scooted forward, looking up at the human standing awkwardly in the center of the kitchen. Their gaze was immediately drawn to her.

They let out a breath, letting their head fall back and their eyes briefly close. “I couldn’t find you,” they told the ceiling.

“I’m right here,” she shrugged, rubbing a sore spot on her hip. “Did you get the stuff?”

Joan straightened again and smirked. “I did, in fact, get the stuff.” They reached up and set a plastic shopping bag on the counter, which contained a tub slightly larger than their fist. “I just got a small one, since I don’t eat ice cream. But this is all yours. Or as much of it as you want, anyway.”

Remy frowned. “If you don’t eat ice cream, how do you even know this is any good?”

Joan smiled wryly. “Trust me: it is.”

They set a small plastic spoon on the counter. As usual, “small” was a relative term, and as usual, it was relative to the human. The spoon was about the size of Joan’s thumb, made of flattened white plastic. To Remy, it was like a shovel. Actually, it was a lot like the one that had been in her backpack; except this one was new and didn’t have a piece missing from the… what did you even call the part of the spoon that wasn’t the handle? Was that the spoon itself? The bowl? The scoop? Did it even have a name?

Whatever. She had more important, more delicious things to think about.

Remy waited not-so-incredibly patiently as Joan took the ice cream tub out of the plastic bag and removed the lid. Frost clung to the container here and there. That made sense, given the name of the dessert within.

“Go ahead,” Joan urged, taking a step back.

Remy picked up her shovel-spoon and approached, peering curiously at the ice cream. It was light brown and looked a lot like snow. Or ice, she supposed, considering the name. She lifted up her shovel-spoon and dug it into the ice cream. She was glad to find that it was rather soft, and she easily scooped up a hefty helping.

She took a large mouthful, then flinched, spitting it out reflexively and nearly dropping her spoon. “It’s _cold!”_

“Well, yeah.” Joan was clearly trying not to laugh. “It’s ice cream.” Their eyebrows knitted as a thought occurred to them. “Have you had ice cream before? Like, at all?”

Remy wiped at her mouth, definitely not blushing. “Pffft—girl, what? Of course I’ve had ice cream before. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Judging by Joan’s expression, they did not believe this incredibly persuasive statement. “Try just a little bit this time.”

Remy adjusted her grip on the spoon’s handle. She scooped a much smaller amount of ice cream on her spoon and licked it off. Her eyes widened. Pretty soon she was scooping up bite after bite of the stuff. This was _delicious!_

“Not too fast, you don’t want to get brain freeze—uh, that’s a headache you get from eating cold food.”

“Worth it,” she claimed.

“You say that now, but we’ll see.”

She made a disbelieving sound at them; but she did slow down, sticking to smaller bites. Joan went to sit down at the kitchen table a ways away, clearly waiting for her to finish. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry, which was good, because Remy sure wasn’t.

“Why don’t you eat this stuff?” Remy asked after a while. “It’s amazing.”

Joan glanced up. “Oh, well, uh, I’m a vegan, actually. Ice cream has milk in it. The regular kind does, anyway. I don’t eat that.”

“Vegan,” Remy repeated to herself. She didn’t recognize the word. Maybe it was a fancy synonym for “picky-eater”. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. More ice cream for her.

“You said this doesn’t have caffeine?” she checked.

“It does, but not a lot. Sorry.”

Remy shrugged and took another bite. Still good.

…

Getting down from the counter was much easier than getting up on to it in the first place. Not because it wasn’t nerve-wracking, because it was; but because she had already gotten the hardest part over with. She had met the dog. And she had lived. It also helped that she had done this once before already, and Joan had been careful then.

“Ready?” Joan asked.

Remy, sitting in the center of the blanket and clutching the shovel-spoon that she’d refused to give back for personal reasons that were none of their business, nodded.

They gave her a reassuring look, then carefully scooped her up in the fabric. She was nervous, of course, about potentially being dropped or crushed; but neither happened, and she was set gently on the floor.

She clambered out of the blanket and onto the linoleum while Joan unfolded it into their makeshift sled thing. Once that was done, she climbed back on, and they left the kitchen behind.

Before she knew it, she was back in the guest room, reclined in her very cozy blanket in front of the warm air vent, her stomach full of coffee-flavored ice cream, her bruises numbed by a baggie of peas, and her mind (relatively) at ease.

…

Remy hated to admit it, even to herself; but Joan had been right.

Now that she had seen the dog, now that she knew that it was not some monstrous, bloodthirsty hound, but a goofy-looking ball of fluff who tried way too hard to seem friendly and harmless, it was much easier to relax. She still wasn’t completely sold on Joan’s whole “I’ll-only-ask-you-to-stay-two-days-and-then-I’ll-take-you-home” shtick, and not just because she didn’t actually _have_ a home, but this helped. A lot.

(Again, not something that she planned to tell her humble human host.)

A couple of hours had passed since Remy’s introduction to the dog. Things were pretty calm. Remy was just resting, listening to the sounds of Joan and Marco playing in the neighboring room. Earlier, the sound would have terrified her, the fear that the dog would get into her room consuming her. Now, she was surprised to be greeted by a distinct lack of fear.

That didn’t mean she wanted to join them. She was perfectly content where she was, not getting accidentally trampled.

After a while, the already muffled noise from the other room calmed. Remy shifted, allowing her eyes to close. It had been worth having to meet the dog, she thought, for this. And the coffee flavored ice cream sure didn’t hurt.

As she lay there, her mind drifted to the tunnel entrance under the bed. She was sure now that neither Joan nor Marco had done anything to the littles who had built it. More than likely, the littles had left when they first found out that Joan was getting a dog, or perhaps because of the mouse traps they had put out some time ago. It was that simple, it seemed. She’d have to do some more exploring of the tunnels themselves, of course, to be absolutely sure that there really wasn’t anything more going on; but she didn’t expect to find anything. Maybe once she got an idea of their layout, she could even figure out a way to fix them up and—

Wait.

What was she doing? Why was she imagining things like that? What did she care about this place? She wasn’t _staying_ here. She was leaving in a day. Less than that, actually.

She scoffed, eyes still closed. Stupid.

Not that she had been seriously considering it—that would be ridiculous, and dangerous, to say the least. Living somewhere where a human had seen so much as her shadow was out of the question. It didn’t matter that Joan seemed kind, or that they’d given her coffee, or that this was probably the most promising place that she’d come across since being ousted from her home. Maybe it’d be fun to imagine, hypothetically, just for something to do; but it wasn’t like she was actually going to follow through on those musings. She already had a plan. Get back to where she’d almost drowned (and stay OUT of that stupid bucket this time), get her stuff, and find herself a new home. One where she didn’t have to worry about a human who knew about her or a dog who might get overexcited some day and step on her.

Besides, she did still have some reservations about Joan, even ignoring the fact that they were a human. Mainly the fact that, though Joan didn’t seem to want to hurt her, they did have this… weirdly paternalistic vibe about them that Remy wasn’t sure she liked. They seemed to think that they knew what was best for her, and while they had asked her for her input a lot of the time so far, there were some things that they had done that didn’t sit right with her. Maybe she hadn’t been able to protest being brought here in the first place, or Joan undressing her to warm her up, or whatever CPR was, but they hadn’t even thought to ask her if she wanted _caffeine_ in her _coffee_. And they had all but forced her to meet their dog, having decided that that would be best for her despite how afraid she was. After all, it very well could have gone wrong. Joan couldn’t have known for sure that it wouldn’t. She wasn’t a child, she wasn’t helpless, and she sure as hell didn’t need some human making decisions for her.

It didn’t matter that they had apologized, or that they had been right about the dog, or that they had saved her life. Whether she forgave them for their mistakes or not, they were still a human, and she was still a little. She couldn’t stay, even if an odd part of her wanted to.

It was probably just Stock-Home Syndrome, or whatever it was called, anyway.

Rather than dwell on that, Remy decided to focus on another topic, one that wasn’t really any more pleasant, but also didn’t make her feel as uncomfortable, and was also pretty dang relevant to how she was going to fare once she finally left this place: how she was doing.

She still didn’t exactly feel good. She was pretty sure by now that some of her ribs were cracked, although she didn’t think any were broken (and hoped that she wasn’t jinxing herself just by thinking that). Her headache had gotten better, not completely, but better. Unfortunately, though, she seemed to be starting to develop a cold. She had a cough and a runny nose, because of course she would have the rotten-*ss luck to get sick right after nearly drowning. After all, what paired better with cracked ribs than a cold?

She knew she shouldn’t expect a miracle. She knew it had only been a day since she had nearly drowned in freezing, probably dirty water. She knew that she only had one day left to recover before she left. She knew she wasn’t going to get 100% better in that time.

But she didn’t have to be happy about it.

…

In the evening, Joan returned, bringing with them her dinner. It consisted of rice and what looked like a weird biscuit. Or a pastry. Or something.

“That’s a veggie dumpling,” Joan explained, noticing her bafflement. “They’re pretty good. If you don’t like it, though, I can get something else.”

Remy said nothing. Having options for her meals was still a very weird prospect for her. Not one she planned to get used to, as nice as the idea was. She was leaving the next day, after all.

She waited for Joan to step back before she moved to sit next to the dish. She couldn’t smell very well at the moment—stupid cold—but it _looked_ good. She went to the dumpling first, picking at the soft dough with her fingers until she could see what was inside. Some kind of cooked vegetable, although she couldn’t have said for sure what. She scooped some of that out and put it on a piece of the dough, then popped it in her mouth. A pleased sound escaped her.

Joan grinned, which Remy steadfastly ignored.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone, then—”

“Wait,” Remy interrupted, mouth still full of dumpling-y goodness. The word may or may not have been unintelligible.

Joan, already starting to back out of the room, paused anyway.

Remy swallowed. “Stay?” She tried and failed to make it sound like less of a request and more of a demand.

Joan blinked. “Uh—sure. Yeah, of course.” They hesitated, then slowly sat down. “Not that I’m complaining, but, uh… Why?”

“I’m bored,” she declared. “There’s, like, nothing to do in here.” Well, nothing besides think and sleep and explore the tunnels that she wasn’t going to tell Joan existed. And she was too tired to go exploring.

“Sorry. I kind of thought you’d just want to be left alone. I didn’t mean to bore you.”

She shrugged, going back to eating her food.

“Maybe we could do something once you’re done. Play a game or something.”

Remy glanced at them, stifling a cough. “What kind of game?”

“I don’t know. I could pull up something on my phone, or I have some board games. Board games might be better, though. I have a travel-sized set that might be easier for you.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“Cool. Want me to grab that now? I’ll come right back.”

She gave them the go-ahead, and a few minutes later, they returned carrying a box.

“So, what do you want to play? There’s a deck of cards, but they’d probably be pretty big… But there’s also chess, checkers—”

“That one,” Remy interrupted. She actually knew how to play checkers.

“Checkers, cool. Good choice.” They smiled uncertainly, then opened up the box. They pulled out the board, flipped it to the correct side, and pulled out a bag of game pieces. Remy finished eating while they set up the board.

“Red or black?” they asked as she approached.

“Black,” she said, since those pieces were already on the side of the board nearest her.

“Cool. You can go first.”

Remy moved her pieces around by pushing them with her feet, which required a lot less effort than picking them up and putting them down again. Joan waited for her to get off the board each time it was their turn, seeming to correctly guess that it would make her nervous if they reached for their pieces while she was even close to being in the way.

She won, very easily. Suspiciously easily.

“Did you let me win?” she asked, watching as Joan reset the board.

Their hand paused, which pretty much gave her her answer.

“_Joan_.”

They at least had the decency to look ashamed.

“Don’t do that.”

They nodded, then put a hand up. “I won’t. Scout’s honor. I wasn’t a scout, but, yeah. You get the idea.”

It was just a game, but Remy still wasn’t a fan of how they played this off. “I’m serious. I’m not a kid. Winning because you let me is boring, and if that’s all you’re going to do, we might as well just stop this whole thing, okay, sis?”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

So they kept playing. And Remy lost the next game.

She was just about to claim victory on their third game, or second _real_ game (she definitely was, don’t question her on this), when there was a loud rumbling noise. She took a few steps back in surprise, nearly tripping over a game piece, then looked up to see a very embarrassed-looking Joan.

“Sorry,” they mumbled sheepishly. “My stomach.”

“Didn’t you eat dinner?” Remy asked, pretending that she hadn’t been startled by the sudden sound. She returned her attention to the game, tapping her foot as she contemplated whether she wanted to move her game piece to the left or the right.

“Uh. No?”

She looked up again, surprised. “Girl, what? Why not?” It wasn’t like the human had to worry about where they were getting their next meal. They could just walk to the kitchen and make one. And even if that wasn’t true for every human, she knew it was for this one.

“I came to drop yours off first.”

She stared at them. “So… why not eat yours after?”

“…You asked me to stay.”

Remy opened her mouth, then shut it again. She supposed she _had_ done that, but still. She folded her arms. “You could have _said _something,” she pointed out. “I’m not trying to like, starve you or whatever.”

Joan shifted subtly. “I didn’t… I mean, you actually wanted me to stay. I didn’t want to f*ck that up.”

Remy looked them up and down, thinking. Then she went around and kicked all of the remaining black pieces off of the board while Joan watched, visibly confused. “Okay,” she said when she was done. “You win with your very distracting rumbly stomach. Go eat, and then I want a rematch.”

Joan didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so they just nodded and got up. “I’ll be back,” they promised.

…

Once Joan returned, Remy and Joan kept playing. Remy tired of checkers after a while, and Joan taught her how to play chess. This was not an easy task, since Remy had a hard time keeping the roles of the different pieces apart, and half the time was convinced that Joan was making things up.

“All games are made up,” they had pointed out.

“But—why would the knight move like that? It makes no sense. And why can the pointy thing—”

“The bishop?”

“Why can the pointy bishop thing only go diagonally?”

They had shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a game.”

Eventually, she had figured it out, more or less, although she was definitely not very good at it, which was frustrating as heck. Joan kept their word, though, and didn’t let her win.

They ended up going back to checkers.

Overall, it wasn’t too bad. Remy almost found herself having fun. Joan made a good opponent, when they weren’t letting her win, and she enjoyed the banter they shot back and forth. It let her forget her weakness, her cold, and the pain in her chest, just for a while. It let her ignore the fact that before long, she’d be alone again, trying to find a place to belong. It let her pretend she had a home.

It wasn’t as if any of this really meant anything, though. If anything, it was just a testament to how lonely she was, that she almost wanted to be a human’s friend.

But that just wasn’t possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments are very much appreciated. <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story! I hope you enjoy its conclusion!

It turned out that sleeping was a lot easier when Remy wasn’t afraid of a gigantic bloodthirsty beast barging in and devouring her alive. Joan’s goofy looking corgi, Marco, didn’t exactly inspire the same paranoid insomnia. He was still a dog, but he was nowhere near what she had been imagining.

Maybe it was actually _too_ easy to sleep, if the fact that she didn’t wake up until well past noon was anything to go by. She didn’t have a clock at her disposal in the room; but she could tell she had slept late as soon as she woke up. The placement of the shadows in the room only confirmed this feeling.

On the one hand, Remy was both a bit embarrassed and annoyed to have slept for so long. On the other, there were only a few hours left in the deal she had made with Joan, where she had agreed to stay with them for two days to recover in exchange for being brought back to the place where this had all begun. The place where Joan obviously believed she had family waiting for her; but which in fact only gave her an opportunity to retrieve her lost supplies and continue on her dangerous mission to find a home. The place where she had very nearly died, in the very undignified manner of drowning in a bucket.

She’d be lying if she tried to say that returning to that lifestyle, especially given her recent brush with death, didn’t fill her with a mixture of dread, anxiety, and profound exhaustion. But she knew she had to go. There were no other options. Or at least, no good ones.

Remy sighed, pushing away the blanket, sniffling. She slowly got to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and walked to the small shot glass of water that Joan had left behind for her. She picked up the aluminum cup that sat beside it, which she had refolded—Joan should really stick to things their size. This, she used to scoop up some water. She settled herself down beside the shot glass to drink it.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, which slowly opened.

“Hey, Nunya, sorry to wake you, but I need to let Marco… oh, hi.” Joan seemed surprised to see her already up.

Remy sipped her water.

“Good morning. Or, I guess it’s technically afternoon. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that I’m taking Marco out of my room. He needs outside.” They leaned on the door frame. “Want some food when I get back?”

“Coffee?”

Joan snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get you coffee. But what about food? I’d assume you’re hungry.”

Remy wasn’t incredibly hungry, since she’d just woken up, but littles were not ones to turn down food. “I mean, like, yeah.”

“Cool. Breakfast or lunch?”

Remy furrowed her brows, tilting her head as she stared at them. “…Yeeessss?” Was there a difference? Food was food.

Joan frowned slightly at her reaction, seeming confused. “Well. Okay. I’m gonna go take Marco out now. I’m probably going to let him hang out in the kitchen while I cook, too, so you know.”

Remy appreciated that Joan had kept their word about giving her a heads up, so she just said, “Don’t forget my coffee.”

Joan saluted and ducked out of the room, shutting the door behind them. There was an odd look in their eyes as they did it, but Remy decided not to dwell on it.

…

“So… how long until 3:30?”

Joan paused, their fork hovering over their own bowl of noodles. They swallowed. “A little under three hours,” they admitted, tapping their fork on the side of their dish before scooping up another forkful of food.

Remy shifted. “You’re still taking me back, right?”

Joan quickly chewed and swallowed. “’Course. I promised, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Joan watched her for a moment, making Remy feel self-conscious. She pretended not to notice, just eating her own meal.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did, girl.”

Joan rolled their eyes, then looked at her with a more serious expression. “It’s just that you always say, “take me back”. Never “take me home”.”

Remy forced herself not to react too strongly. Instead, she folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So, I just… I don’t know. You do have a home, right?”

“Girl, like what are you even talking about? Of course I have a home! What do you think we’re doing here? Jeez.”

She wasn’t sure Joan was convinced, but they just sighed. “Sorry, I’m just… you know, I want you to be okay after you leave.”

Remy muffled a cough. “Bruh. Ma’am. Girl. Whatever. Maybe I just don’t want you to know where I live. Did you ever consider that, Joan?”

The human frowned slightly. “Maybe.”

“And like, you don’t get to decide if my home’s good enough to go back to, or whatever, so stop acting like you do. It’s not a good look.”

Joan looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay, yeah, fine. Sorry if I came off that way. I _am_ taking you back today.”

“At 3:30?”

“At 3:30.”

“Gucci.”

Joan looked baffled. “You know what Gucci is?”

“Yeah. You know, like, good? I’m not an idiot.”

They looked no less confused, but they just said, “Right.”

Remy went back to eating. After a few seconds, so did Joan.

“So,” they asked after a while, “what do you want to do until 3:30? We’ve got some time to kill.”

Remy thoughtfully chewed on a piece of carrot, then swallowed. “Do you have a sewing kit?”

Joan nodded. “Yeah, I have a sewing kit. What for?”

“I’m going to sew a human trap.”

Joan smirked. “Ah, I see. You’re going to need a lot of thread, then.”

“Mmm, maybe.” She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Really though. What color thread do you need? Any fabric?”

Remy stared at them for a few seconds, vaguely suspicious, then gestured at her jacket. “This color?”

Joan leaned forward, the smallest trace of hurt flashing in their eyes as she leaned back in response. She almost felt bad about it.

“Sure, I can do that,” they said.

Silence fell after that, slightly uncomfortable as the two simply ate their meals. Finally, Remy cleared her throat—a mistake, her painful ribs immediately reminded her.

Joan glanced up.

“So… how long have you lived in this place, anyway?”

“Oh, you’re curious?”

“More like bored.” And trying not to think about how nervous she was about the end of their deal, which expired in less than three hours.

“Ah, I see.”

“So? Is this, like, an old building?” Remy asked. “Have you lived here a long time?”

Joan shrugged, considering. “Yeah, it’s pretty old. I had it remodeled a bit after I inherited it, about... I guess it was around seven years ago now. But it’s mostly the same. I’ve lived here since then.”

“Inherited?”

“You know, like when your family member dies and what was theirs becomes yours.”

Remy frowned up at Joan. “So... your parents died?” That was unfortunate. She had thought that humans usually got to be older before they lost their parents.

“No, no, my uncle.” Joan corrected. “He and my aunt didn’t have any kids, and she isn’t into this whole landlord thing. So it got left to me, and I split whatever profits I make with my aunt. Basically, people pay me to live here, and I keep everything running and fix it if it breaks, and take care of stuff like… ah, sorry, that’s boring. Anyway, I never really planned on being a landlord; but I figured it was better than selling to somebody who’s probably going to double everyone’s rent.”

“That sucks,” Remy declared. Your uncle dies, and then you have to do work? Yuck.

“It’s not so bad,” Joan shrugged. “I get to work from home, I don’t have to pay rent... could be a lot worse.”

Remy shrugged, sticking another noodle in her mouth.

“You like the pasta?” Joan asked.

Remy slurped up the noodle like she was a character in _Lady and the Tramp_. “Girl, you should _never _trust someone who doesn’t like pasta.”

Joan chuckled. “Noted.” They set down their fork and started to get up. “I’m going to go put this in the kitchen, and get that sewing kit. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched as they left the room. When the door shut, the coughing fit she’d been fighting back for the past few minutes refused to be put off any longer, and she shoved her face in the crook of her elbow to muffle the noise, her other arm wrapped around her painful ribs as the coughs wracked her frame.

…

Remy pulled the needle through the fabric, pausing to inspect her work.

Not bad, but she remembered now why she’d put off adding pockets to her jacket for so long. Stitching fabric was a pain in in the *ss. This was an opinion which was probably only strengthened by the fact that Remy was… not especially good at it. She’d never been interested in it much, even though her parents had tried to teach her. And it had never come easily to her. At least her girlfriend had been willing to help out, when they had been together.

…Nope, Remy was not thinking about her. She was still salty about how things had ended, and going down that rabbit hole wouldn’t help her.

_Too clingy_. She wasn’t too clingy! She was, like, the perfect about of clingy, thank you very much.

Remy coughed, going back for another stitch. So much for not thinking about her.

She finished up sewing the first pocket, pausing to look over her handiwork. Kind of uneven, but it would serve her fine. She shoved her jacket around in her lap until she was at the opposite side, and picked up a piece of graphite Joan had brought her to mark a line where the second pocket’s opening would go. Then, she picked up the miniature pair of scissors. They were cumbersome, since they were still far too big for a little; but her handmade knife was in her backpack at the bottom of a water-filled bucket, probably rusting and rotting away. So she’d have to make do with the scissors.

She carefully lined up the fabric, then pushed down on one side of the scissors to make the cut. The fabric shifted as she did, so it ended up crooked.

“Girl, come _on_,” she moaned.

It was only crooked by a couple of millimeters, but she was still pissed. Sure, she could sew it up and try again, but there’d still be visible stitches, and Remy did not want to repeat this whole process when she might well get it wrong _again_.

So, crooked pocket it was.

She sat down, pulled over the fabric, sewing needle, and thread, and got back to work.

…

By the time the fateful hour finally came, Remy had finished her jacket modifications and put everything back in the sewing kit, although perhaps not as neatly as it had been when she got it. Now, she waited, sitting on the blanket, sipping coffee from an aluminum cup. She had a feeling it might be the last coffee she got for quite a while.

She sniffled and resisted the urge to wipe her nose with her sleeve. Stupid cold.

She held on tight to the shovel-spoon sitting across her lap, ignoring the way her stomach churned with nerves.

Everything would be fine, she told herself. Joan would take her back, she’d get her supplies, and she’d bounce. She’d find a new home. She would be okay.

Finally, there was a faint knock on the door, and it opened. Joan stood there. They looked rather dejected, but attempted a smile when they saw her. It didn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Well… it’s time,” they said. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

Remy ignored the nagging feeling in the back of her mind, simply saying, “Yes.” She set her jaw, waiting for their inevitable attempts to renegotiate their deal.

“Okay. That’s chill. Just let me go get my car keys.”

Remy’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re actually doing it? You’re letting me go? Just… like that?”

Joan sighed. “Look, I think we both know I’d rather you stayed longer. And that’s an open invitation. But I promised that I’d take you back, and so I will. I don’t break promises.”

Remy opened her mouth and shut it again. “Well… good,” she finally said. “Let’s go, then.”

Joan nodded. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Remy watched them go, a bit of anxiety fluttering through her sore chest. Rationally, she supposed she should have known what Joan taking her “home” would involve, but now that the moment was here, she still couldn’t help but be… well, more than a little scared, that was for sure.

Remy waited, sitting on the blanket, listening as the human walked around the apartment, pausing here and there, before disappearing, presumably outside.

They were back before she had too much time to dwell on whether this was really what she wanted. Remy finished off her coffee, stashed the aluminum cup in one of her new jacket pockets, and got to her feet, leaning on her plastic shovel-spoon like a cane.

Joan knelt down in front of her, hesitated, then held out a hand. “Ready to go?””

There was a small pause.

“Is this okay?” Joan asked, biting their lip. “I can find something else to carry you in. I know you said “no carrying”—several times, actually,--but I do need to carry you into the car. There’s not really a way around that. Sorry. We could try the sled thing, but we can’t do that outside.”

Remy knew they were right, as much as she disliked it. She could tell them to pick her up in something else, so she wasn’t _in their hand_, but she supposed that would just give them more time to change their mind, and her more time to chicken out. So she slowly got to her feet, and she climbed onto Joan’s hand, hoping they couldn’t feel her trembling.

It was… really f*cking weird.

The fleshy walls of their palm and fingers were all around her, radiating warmth as their fingers curled in closer. She stiffened despite herself, but they didn’t restrict her.

Joan let out a slow breath. “Okay. I’m going to pick you up now.”

Remy’s eyes darted up at them. “Get on with it, b*tch not-a-boy.”

Joan blinked, then let out a surprised laugh that turned into a cough. They took it slowly as they stood up, which Remy, on one hand, appreciated, but also couldn’t help but be annoyed by, since it meant she had to be in these hands all the longer.

Joan put the hand to their torso to hold it steady and stared walking. Remy clutched tightly to their hands, well aware of the drop below, and justifiably nervous about the whole situation.

“Ow,” Joan muttered. “You’re pinching me.”

Remy let go. Sort of.

They kept her close to their chest as they made it down the hall, through the kitchen, and to the front door of their apartment. It was weird to see it all from this high up. It made their furniture and belongings almost look normal sized, they appeared so small. Someone of her size probably looked like an ant to Joan. She shivered at the thought.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked under their breath, opening the door.

“Fine,” Remy mumbled, hunching down in the hand. As weird as it was to be _in a freaking hand,_ she would happily press herself further into it if it meant keeping herself from being seen. Joan seemed to have a similar thought, curling their fingers more closely around her.

“Just a short walk,” Joan said in a low voice. They turned and closed the door, locking it behind them, and walked more briskly after that. Remy squeezed her eyes shut, the movements sending waves of pain through her sore body, but she didn’t dare ask them to slow down. She knew this was for the best, anyway. Less time in the open meant less time for somebody to see them. And the sooner they left, the sooner she’d be out of there for good.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled Remy’s hair, prompting her to open her eyes. Through Joan’s cupped fingers, she could see enough to tell that they were outside. The lower temperature and slight drizzle might have also given that away, though, to be perfectly fair.

Joan walked up to a blue car parked on the street and opened the passenger side door.

“Thank you for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services, today, miss. I’ll be your driver, Joan.”

Remy dared to shoot up a baffled look. Joan looked quite pleased with their joke, although Remy didn’t understand it at all.

A part of her wanted to ask them to explain, but she shook her head, admonishing her own curiosity. No. Why should she care about a human’s jokes?

Besides, jokes weren’t as funny if they had to be explained, anyway. But it was mostly the why-should-she-care thing. Obvs.

“I figured a seat belt might not be so good for… someone your size,” Joan whispered, ”but I don’t want you just sliding around every time I have to brake. So…” They uncurled their fingers enough to let her look. Sitting in the passenger seat of the car was a smallish cardboard box with what looked like a shirt folded up inside it. Parts of the fabric were pulled up in the front and back of the box, forming soft walls there.

“It’s not glamorous,” Joan admitted.

“Please tell me that shirt’s clean,” Remy said, staring down at it mistrustfully.

Joan exhaled, amused. “It is, don’t worry. Is… is this okay?”

Remy hesitated.

As much as she wanted to believe that Joan was keeping her word, as much as evidence seemed to show that they would, she couldn’t help her fear. What if Joan wouldn’t take her back? What if they were taking her somewhere else? Somewhere she’d be killed, or tortured, or exposed to the world?

…No, she reminded herself. That didn’t make sense, did it? They would have just let her die if they wanted her dead. And they didn’t need to leave their apartment to reveal her existence. She knew about phones.

She might have worried that Joan had grown bored of her, but Remy was the life of the party.

…Okay, maybe not for the past few days. Maybe her usual spunk had gotten a bit… damp. But she was _not_ boring.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that cardboard box, though. It was possible that Joan wanted her to get inside to be easily trapped.

But, again, what would be the point? And why would they want to? How would that fit in at all with everything else they’d done over the past two days?

She needed to just trust that they were keeping their word, and that going back was the right decision.

“I just want to go home,” Remy said at last.

That was not a lie. It also wasn’t quite the truth, either, since it implied she still _had _a home. But Joan didn’t need to know that that didn’t exist at all. She would just stick to her plan. Get her hook, go fishing for her backpack, and blow that popsicle stand. She’d find herself a new home. One with coffee and everything else she needed, and with no humans who knew about her. She’d be able to start fresh. She hoped.

Joan seemed to accept her answer. But when they moved to lower her down into the box, Remy tensed again, gripping their hand hard enough to pinch.

Joan paused, and she slowly let go.

“What now?”

Remy swallowed. “I just… I’ve never been in a car before.”

“Um. Yeah, you have.”

Remy pouted, glaring at them. “Don’t be a smart*ss. You know that doesn’t count!”

“Okay, I guess you’re right. It’s not so bad. It’s probably going to be weird at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“…Fine.”

They lowered her down to the box, and she didn’t stop them this time. They let her scoot off of their hand and into the container. She sat down in the cushioning the tee shirt provided, pressed against one of the cardboard walls. Joan closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car.

Remy closed her eyes, her heart hammering. And then she sneezed, which proved to be a pretty effective distraction. For as long as it took Joan to walk around to the other side of the car and sit down in the driver’s seat, anyway.

…

Joan got settled, casting one glance at their passenger. She was watching them from where she sat, pressed up against one of the walls of the shoebox they’d buckled into the seat. Their mom would be proud of their consideration for safety.

“Bit of a noise,” they warned, before putting the key in the ignition and twisting it. The engine roared to life. “And now we’re moving.” They pulled out and they stared driving in the direction of their aunt’s house. The tiny young woman might have squeaked as the car first began to move, but she seemed determined to pretend it hadn’t happened, and Joan saw no harm in letting her.

As they drove, Joan couldn’t help the heavy feeling that rested in their chest. The fact was, they didn’t want their guest to leave. Not at all. And not only because she was still hurt, but because they… well, they liked her. They liked her sass. She was fun to talk to, when she wasn’t being combative or fearful. She’d really come around in the past couple of days, despite their screw ups.

Joan would have liked to consider her a friend. They almost believed the feeling might be mutual.

They rode in silence, and they made good time for the first part of the trip. Their passenger seemed to grow used to the sound and movement of the car, curling into a corner of the box and making herself comfortable.

Just at the halfway point of the trip, they hit a snag.

“There’s a train going through town,” Joan sighed, coming to a stop near the tracks. “We’ll have to wait for it to pass. Sometimes they take a while, especially if its switching direction. Sorry about that. We’ll get going as soon as it’s gone.”

No response came from the box, which surprised them. They’d have expected a comment about how they were probably just stalling. Some kind of sass, anyway, at least. They glanced over.

The girl was sitting in the box, leaning against the wall of it. She was slightly slumped forward, her head lolling down.

Joan paused, then lowered their voice. “Nunya?” they asked quietly.

No response. She must have somehow managed to fall asleep along the way, despite how bouncy the ride must have seemed to her, and stayed that way despite how loud the bells at the railroad crossing were. Joan looked over her tiny, sleeping form, then sighed through their nose. They were silent for a moment, watching the train cars pass by.

“I hope you really do have a family out there,” they commented softly. “Or someone who’ll take care of you, anyway.”

Sure, the tiny woman was very much alive, but she wasn’t exactly ready to go roughing it out in the world. Not by a long shot. Not as far as Joan was concerned. The image of her when they’d found her, half dead with blue lips and water in her lungs, was still all too clear in their mind.

But they had made a promise. Maybe it was a mistake, letting her leave so soon. But Joan knew that that wasn’t their mistake to make. She was her own person, and Joan was not planning to hold her against her will. They just had to hope that she would be alright.

They watched her for a few moments where she sat, unmoving, her dark hair falling into her face and mostly hiding it from view.

The train rolled along, very slowly, making a rhythmic clacking sound that they could hear over the sound of the bells. Normally, it would drive Joan crazy how slowly the train moved through town; but today, they were almost glad for it. This was one time that Joan didn’t mind the train lengthening their trip.

They looked back to their passenger, “Nunya”.

“Are you even really asleep?” Joan mumbled aloud, keeping their voice soft to avoid waking her if that actually was the case. They wouldn’t have been surprised if she was faking it. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

She didn’t react to their question. If she was awake, she wasn’t planning on sharing that information.

Joan gripped the steering wheel, then put their hands in their lap. They watched the train again. More graffiti-decorated cars rolled past, one after another after another. It was a long train, and not in a hurry.

A car horn sounded, and Joan rolled their eyes. Someone had pulled up behind them and was apparently not pleased by the delay. Joan didn’t know what the driver expected them to do about it. They had many talents, but driving through solid steel train cars was not one of them.

The horn honked again. “Nunya” jerked slightly, making a sound. Joan glanced down at her, but she had gone still again, her head now resting against the side of the box.

The car behind them suddenly swerved away and gunned it down a road parallel to the railroad tracks. Probably hoping to find a detour. It might have been a good plan, except that as soon as they were out of sight, the last railcar rolled past.

Joan laughed silently, then released the brake, easing the car up and over the tracks. The bumps shook the car despite their low speed, bumps that Joan never would have paid much attention to normally. They cast another glance at the girl in the passenger seat, who had shifted slightly as the car was jostled, but hadn’t woken. In the absence of the train and the bells, and with the car’s slowness minimizing the sound of the engine, they just barely made out a quiet snore when they strained their ears.

The last time she had feigned sleep, they remembered, she hadn’t snored. She wasn’t faking. She really had slept through all of that, despite being in a moving car at her size, at railroad tracks, as a train passed by.

She definitely wasn’t well enough to be alone. She was still hurt and weak from her ordeal; and they were pretty sure she was sick, too. And based on some of the things she had said, Joan was beginning to suspect that there really might not be anyone waiting for her to come home. If she even had any sort of home to return to at all.

_Am I chauffeuring this girl to her death?_ Their throat constricted, and their clothes suddenly felt too tight. They pulled over to the side of the residential street and put the car in park, breathing as steadily as they could.

Joan tugged off their beanie and leaned forward until their forehead rested against the steering wheel, listening to the rumble of the engine. They closed their eyes, breathing heavily and attempting to stomp down their oncoming panic. They turned to the breathing pattern that they often used whenever they felt one of their annoyingly common panic attacks coming on. They breathed in. They counted. They breathed out. Again.

4… 7… 8… 4… 7… 8….

A few more times.

The familiar pattern and the distraction it provided slowly allowed them to calm down. They kept their forehead on the wheel for a moment, just breathing.

Their companion was still asleep.

Joan allowed themself about thirty more seconds to calm down before they put the car back in drive and pulled out onto the road.

They made it to their aunt’s house without any further incident, and they carefully pulled the car up to the curb. They put it in park and turned it off, and then sat there for a second or two in silence. The time had arrived.

Joan had to say goodbye.

They turned to the seat beside them and looked down at the cardboard box buckled in there. It seemed the sudden absence of the sound of the car engine had finally roused their passenger: she was shifting where she sat, blinking groggily. She straightened up and looked up at Joan, wiping at the corner of her mouth. She subconsciously smoothed down her hair, looking around.

“What…? Why’d we stop?” she asked, sounding sleepy and vaguely suspicious. “Are you like stalling for time or something?”

“No,” Joan said quickly, before she could grow alarmed and start trying to ‘escape’. “We’re here. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

She stared. “We’re here _already_?”

Joan shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I think you fell asleep, but it’s not a long trip anyway. I did tell you it was like ten minutes.” They decided it wasn’t important to mention that it had actually taken longer than usual that day, especially after she’d already accused them of stalling for time. They weren’t sure she’d really understand the concept of a railroad crossing.

“Well, yeah, girl, but come on. I thought you were, like, exaggerating.” She pushed herself to her feet and put her hands up on the side of the box, going up on her tiptoes to try to see better over the edge. “Can we get this over with, then? I’ve got places to be.”

Joan frowned, wondering if they’d imagined the slight tremble in her voice. Most likely, they had, they supposed. They just wanted to believe that she might want to stay with them. Or maybe she was scared they wouldn’t let her go. Which was… well, not a comforting thought.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.” They unbuckled their seat belt and went to open the passenger side door, trying to ignore how heavy their heart felt.

…

Remy stared up at the car window, the blue sky and part of a tree visible through it, expectant. Still, she couldn’t help but jump slightly when Joan’s huge form came into view, blocking most of her view.

There was a loud click, and then the door opened.

Joan smiled down at her. “Alright. Thank you again for choosing The Spectacular Joan’s Transportation Services for all your transportation needs. Make sure to leave 5 stars and a good review.”

Remy blinked, not understanding the joke any better the second time. “Um… sure.”

Joan’s smile faltered; and then their expression turned more serious, almost sad. They hesitated for a few seconds.

“You sure you want to go?” they asked. “I mean… it’s dangerous, isn’t it? I’d be perfectly happy to let you stay a bit longer, until you’re healed. Heck, you can stay indefinitely if that’s what you want. I’m not going to force you, I swear; but… I really don’t know if you leaving is the best idea.”

Remy picked up her shovel-spoon and took a wide stance. “I want to go home,” she said, her voice as firm as she could make it.

Joan let out a long breath, and then nodded, apparently letting it go that easily. They reached towards her, and Remy braced herself, but all the human did was unbuckle the seatbelt that held the box still. Then, they paused. “How do you want to do this?” they asked.

“Um… I guess you could just… like, put me on the ground? I’ll be fine from there.”

Joan glanced around, probably to make sure no one was around, and then reached for the box. They picked it up, and Remy braced herself in the corner to keep from falling.

She felt the grass brush the bottom of the box as it was set down. Joan hesitated, then silently brought their hands towards her, pausing as if to ask permission. She took a half step forward, and they gently scooped her up and set her on her feet in the grass.

Remy shivered in the chill air. Dew clung to the waist-high grass, encouraged by the faint drizzle and cloudy sky. She could already feel the dampness trying to seep through her clothes, and she had to hold her tail aloft to keep it from getting in the muck. She sniffled. You’d really think her nose would be more considerate about timing. If she wasn’t careful, Joan would think she was crying or something. And then this would get even more awkward.

“So, that’s it, then?” Joan said softly.

Remy looked up at them, and she nodded. She looked towards the house, holding back a cough. The yellowing leaves fluttered on a scraggly tree in the yard. She could see the work bench from where she stood.

“Hey, um, before you go, could I ask you something?”

Remy blinked, glancing back. “Sure?”

“You don’t have to answer, but… what’s your name? Your real name? I just… I don’t really want to remember you as “Nunya Business”, you know?”

The little chewed her lip, then nodded to herself. “Remy,” she said. “My name is Remy.”

“Remy,” Joan repeated, trying it out.

“Don’t wear it out,” She said, rubbing her arm. “And I’m really not a borrower, by the way, so don’t go writing that in your diary.”

Joan laughed in a slightly-forced way. “Well, what are you then, Miss Totally-Not-A-Borrower?”

Remy looked at them for a moment, then decided there wasn’t much harm in them knowing. “A little. I did not pick the name. But I still hope you’re not stupid enough to go telling anybody, dumb name or not.”

“A little,” Joan echoed. They seemed to mull it over for a moment. They were probably trying to decide if it was a joke, like “Nunya Business”; but they seemed to accept that she was telling the truth.

A long moment passed.

“Remy?” Joan ventured. “Something wrong?”

Remy took a few steps, then stopped. She put her arms around herself and looked down, then slowly turned towards Joan.

“I…” she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, “for helping me.”

Joan smiled, although it looked forced. They almost looked like they wanted to cry. “Anyone would have. I’m glad you’re… yeah.”

Remy nodded, glancing away again. She tapped the tip of her shovel-spoon absently on the earth.

Joan shifted, then nodded. “I’ll just… get going, then.” They got carefully back to their feet, picked up the cardboard box, and started back towards the car.

Remy watched them go, shifting where she stood.

They made it as far as the curb.

“Wait!” Remy cried.

Joan froze, brought up short.

She swallowed, then steeled herself with determination. “If…_ if_ I come back with you… I want you to do something for me first.”

…

“Here they are. One hook and rope, and one _very _soggy backpack.”

“Aw, thanks. How thoughtful.” Remy watched as Joan set them down in the box with her. The rope and hook looked fine, maybe a bit damp. The backpack, though… well, she’d have to see if anything could be salvaged from it.

“I didn’t even notice the hook last time I was here,” Joan said, watching as she pawed through the soggy items. “And the backpack… well, I kind of thought it was some old leaves or dirt or something.”

Remy sighed, pushing it away and wiping her hands on the tee shirt that formed the floor of the cardboard box. “Nasty,” she muttered.

“I wish you’d said something about this stuff. I’d’ve come to get them a lot sooner.”

Remy avoided their gaze. “That was kind of the point.”

Joan nodded slightly, moved to turn on the car, then paused and turned back to Remy.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Well… I never got to finish my ice cream, did I?” she pointed out mildly, crossed her legs.

Joan huffed out a laugh. “That’s true.” Their fingers tapped on the wheel. “So… is someone going to be missing you?”

She glanced away. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

“What happened?”

“Who says something happened?”

“Just your tone of voice. And you don’t really strike me as a loner.”

“Girl, you’ve known me for two days!”

“I learn fast.”

Remy shook her head, looked up at them, and then sighed. “Fine. You win. I’m just a lonely b*tch whose girlfriend broke up with her for being too clingy, and whose house got… got fumigated, so I had to grab some sh*t and run so I wouldn’t die. And then I almost died anyway. Happy?”

Joan’s eyes widened. _“Fumigated?”_

“Yeah. I don’t know. I think that’s the word. They thought they had rats or bugs or something. Guess I wasn’t a good roomie.”

Joan was silent for a long moment, and Remy realized that she hadn’t mentioned before that littles lived with humans. Whoops.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Joan said at last. “And about your girlfriend. That sucks. I’m really glad you got out okay, though.”

“Thanks,” Remy murmured.

“If you ever want to talk about it, well… we can always talk about it. Maybe have some coffee. Or a lot of coffee, assuming you didn’t sneak into the kitchen and drink it all already.”

Remy’s mouth twitched.

Joan turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Ready to go home, then, Remy?”

Home.

Remy considered the word.

She was going home, wasn’t she?

She felt nervous, but something deep within her told her that this was the right decision. Maybe her future was a little uncertain; maybe there were probably definitely some kinks that would have to be worked out along the way; and maybe she would never know for sure what had really happened to the littles who had once inhabited Joan’s walls; but this felt right. She settled in for the ride, and smiled up at Joan.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Fun fact before you go: the outline for this last chapter was simply "Oop she's supposed to go home now".


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